Let Him Tell His Book Of Lies
Low Key was warm, unaccountably warm. It must be Hell, he thought. Where else do con men go when their plans go terribly terribly wrong? He opened his eyes and was surprised to be surrounded by opulent furniture. Not Hell, then. But where?
He tried sitting up again, and managed it this time. He looked down at his chest to inspect the damage and was surprised to see that though his shirt was ruined, there was no wound. Only a ragged scar remained of his death wound.
"Well, what do you know?" He whistled softly. "A whole new world for me."
I hate you all. Only not. Yes, this is Low Key Lyesmith from American Gods. He's from the end of the book, for those who are curious. Have at. Just make sure you count your fingers and your toes and your money afterwards.
He tried sitting up again, and managed it this time. He looked down at his chest to inspect the damage and was surprised to see that though his shirt was ruined, there was no wound. Only a ragged scar remained of his death wound.
"Well, what do you know?" He whistled softly. "A whole new world for me."
I hate you all. Only not. Yes, this is Low Key Lyesmith from American Gods. He's from the end of the book, for those who are curious. Have at. Just make sure you count your fingers and your toes and your money afterwards.