Ah, a free day. One where you can just relax in your very own hive house. That's two words that mean the same thing in one sentence, because calling things hives still feels weird, even if you live here. Squat here, is a more apt term, since this isn't technically your house, the old owner is just dead. Troll society is a lot simpler than yours, you guess. If you die, your shit is forfeit and the first one to get it is the first one to own it.
You're at your desk, of course, reading. Troll literature is the schlockiest slop you have ever read, and you cannot get enough of it. Who even writes this shit? Twilight is a bona-fide masterpiece compared to this shit.
You don't notice that there is a troll behind you, just silently observing as you read. Looking at you, as the timeline aberration you are, being a human on Alternia. Observing you, thinking about whether or not you doom the timeline just by being here. Not like you'd know any of that. You're reading Troll Fifty Shades of Grey right now. That's right, it exists here too, and it's even worse.
