OKAY. Okay. So you know how my life has been an absolute SHITSHOW for three consecutive lifetimes?

  Turns out there's a reason for that. Apparently (and I'm still processing this) my entire existence is being WRITTEN DOWN by someone. Like, there's a person. In another reality, typing out every humiliating moment of my cursed bird life. Every time I get thrown off a tower, every time Fernando gets used as a projectile, every time a dragon ghosts me at the worst possible moment, SOMEONE IS WRITING THIS DOWN.

  And that someone? Just looked at me and went: "Yeah, I'm gonna take a break here."

  ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!

  I mean—yeah, OKAY—I get it. Being sick sucks. I've been sick. Well, I've been CURSED, which is like being sick but with more existential dread and gender dysphoria. I understand needing rest. I'm not a MONSTER. But did you have to pause my life at LITERALLY THE WORST MOMENT?! Like, there were SO MANY better places to take a hiatus:

  1. After I broke the profanity filter? That was a triumph! Great stopping point!

  2. When I got the gender recognition from the system? Emotional closure! Perfect!

  Literally ANY moment where I wasn't actively being strangled by evil shadow magic! But NO. You left me here. In the tentacles. With everyone hating me. And Yvan—THAT UNRELIABLE SCALY BASTARD—laughing somewhere in his canyon going "this is entertaining."

  I HATE IT HERE. BUT FINE. FINE. Here's What You Need To Know:

  Volume 2 WILL be completed. Eventually. When my narrator recovers from whatever human-world plague they've caught. (And apparently when they've finished celebrating their birthday on February 16th, because of course the dramatic pause lines up with cake and candles. Typical.)

  Things that still need to happen:

  1. Me escaping these shadow tentacles (spoiler: I will, because I'm STUBBORN)

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  2. Confronting Yvan about being THE WORST CHARACTER WITNESS IN HISTORY

  3. Dealing with Vermilion (who is apparently my recurring villain now, great)

  4. Figuring out if I actually doomed the Sky-Dancers or if this can be salvaged

  5. Resplendent Feather maybe, POSSIBLY realizing I was trying to help (unlikely)

  6. Fernando getting therapy (very likely needed)

  Volume 3 is already planned. Which means I will survive this. Probably. The outline exists. I've seen it in the cosmic narrative structure.

  So I'm NOT dying here. Even though it really, really looks like I'm dying here.

  To The Author:

  Get well soon, you sadistic narrative architect. Drink water. Rest. Take your meds. Do whatever humans do to recover from illness. And happy early birthday for February 16th, I guess—hope the cake is good enough to justify leaving me in tentacle hell.

  When you come back (starting February 16th, apparently), we're having WORDS about your sense of dramatic timing. Also maybe write in a scene where Yvan gets mild indigestion as karma for ghosting me.

  To Everyone Reading This:

  Thanks for following my absolutely deranged journey through three lifetimes of being the wrong species and wrong gender.

  I know this is a terrible place to pause. Trust me, I'm LIVING it. But the story will continue—resuming February 16th, because my author's illness and birthday apparently takes priority over my imminent strangulation. Stay safe out there. Take care of yourselves.

  And remember: if a glowing peacock ever tries to curse you, ALWAYS check the terms and conditions first.

  See you all in Volume 2's conclusion. Whenever my narrator decides to stop being HUMAN about things.

  (I'm kidding. Mostly. Get well soon. I need you to write my escape scene. And happy birthday, you monster.)

  — Su Ian Hoo

  Woman Trapped In Wrong Body

  Professional Disaster

  Level 16 (Should Be Higher By Now)

  Current Status: Barely surviving

  Survival Rate: 3% (But I've Beaten Worse Odds)

  Fucks Given: NEGATIVE SEVERAL

  P.S. - Fernando says "please come back soon, my roots are stressed."

  P.P.S. - If any other authors are reading this and want to adopt a foul-mouthed cursed peacock, my rates are negotiable.

  P.P.P.S. - Yvan, if you're listening: FUCK YOU. RENT IS DUE. WITH INTEREST.