Problem: this question assumes I had what lot would call an actual childhood. I mean, yeah, I was born same as anyone else, I was two and three and five and ten and all that, but come on. I slapped me ol' dad with such a curse when I was twelve that he was guaranteed a slow, nasty death and practically all fucking eternity as a ghost. Didn't find
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I was the only one not a doctor who made it out of that birthing room alive.
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Sorry I haven't been about lately- there's been a bit of a brouhaha elsewhere in Massachusetts. Seems some bright light's been tryin' to relieve Miskatonic University of part of its library's restricted section. I went up to see who was out to get the world devoured and reclaimed by the pre-dead, but I think we've got that pretty well nailed...
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