Biographical Works.

I beg anyone who reads this not to feel on behalf of the author. That is not the author’s job, excluding autobiographical works.

This is not to presume that I have inspired any sense of pity.

This is written under the assumption that the reader has pieced together the heavy-handed implications in all I’ve said. Being forthright, at this point in the story, would be overkill. You know what I am. You probably want to kill me, just as you would want to kill any proxy.

Any proxy, like the ones in the stories I read. Stories I have relayed to you.