kurtschreiber

I died at eighty-five, surrounded by family. I figured that was it: lights out, game over. Instead, a glitchy afterlife spat me into a new world of magic, and I landed in the last place I expected: the body of Renette, a spitfire of a girl with a death wish. Only problem? Her soul got ripped out seconds before I arrived, and I’m the sorry bastard stuck wearing her stolen skin.

I’ve got no name, just memories of a lifetime of fixing what’s broken. In this world, that's an entire laundry list, since whoever built this system abandoned it and left it on autopilot. Mysterious, automated voices promise apotheosis: power to bend the world. Good. I’ll use it to put the kid back where she belongs, then find the afterlife I earned. An old soul’s got no business here, but I’ve got a few tricks left, and I’m not stopping ‘til the job’s done.