What was the world even doing to me at this point?
I had always thought—at least hoped—that my life would eventually settle into something resembling normal.
Not completely normal, obviously. That was a lost cause. But maybe something a little less chaotic. A little less "what-the-actual-hell-is-this" every single day. But clearly, the universe had decided against that.
Because here I was.
Standing in the middle of a wrecked road with a crashed car, a mystical glowing mammoth, and Bob.
And honestly, Bob was what disturbed me the most.
I turned, slowly, my brain still struggling to process the absolute absurdity of it all. Bob was just sitting there—like a tiny, smug little ball of pure eldritch nonsense—looking entirely too pleased with himself.
His fluffy, ever-shifting form wobbled slightly, his beady little eyes practically glowing with self-satisfaction.
I squinted at him. "What," I said, voice flat, "the hell are you?"
Bob wiggled. "Bob is Bob."
