Your name is Beyond Birthday you go by B for short. You're above average in height. Very slim, to the point where your bones poke out. You are the definition of antisocial. You have a secret ability, which no one would understand. You live alone with your cats, Rose and Barry. You write in your free time, and are the owner of a morgue that's been in your family for generations.
[14 March, 2013]
B was alone, not uncommon for a man like him. He was very often alone, in fact, he preferred it. He wrote bestselling books, but didn't take a dime of the profit. He didn't need it. He's filthy fucking rich. The most expensive thing in his home is the antiques/ uncommon objects he collects, or maybe his Macbook Air.
Living in a cellar of a morgue would seem taboo for someone perceived as normal. Not for B. He spent his whole life in this place. This is normal for him. It's not like there's rotting cadavers down here, I mean, come on; this was his room after all. He's not overly obsessed with cleaning like Watari was. So it can get pretty messy. Watari was B's butler before he died of cardiac arrest. Watari often told the young lad about a boy not much older than B he took care of. His name was L. The stories memorized the boy, he was determined that one day he'd meet this fairytale.
~end of introduction~