When we were working together, he was the man who would go by the name Zeus Sherlock. A werewolf that is on its deathbed, one that is not only passing away but also losing its last breath on the earth after having exhausted all other options and failing to capture me. It's because he's making too much of an effort to get a hold of me.
No one can get me. I have a lot of experience with it, and even though I was by myself in both darkness and light at the same time, I was able to take care of myself even though I appear like a witch and a dirty woman.
"Zeus Sherlock . . . I hope you will be reborn as my new favorite rabbit," I hushed, and I pointed my finger at the sky. I joked around with him by saying that, but in all seriousness, I did mean it. The concept of people having a second chan
