Barging in on the party.
Good evening to all, and all that. I am Acheron Hades, supervillain extraordinaire despite having the stupidest name in the world. I was one of those few people who were evil for only evil’s sake, and if I say so myself, I was spectacular at it. Until my death (and even for awhile afterwards) I was number three on Britain’s ten most wanted criminals list. I killed dozens of innocent people (and the not-so-innocent, including my idiotic brother, Styx), I terrorized the literary world by travelling into the pages of Martin Chuzzlewit and killing a minor character, trapping a woman inside Wordsworth’s poems (I’m surprised she didn’t go mad with boredom; who cares about the bloody daffodils?), and holding Jane Eyre for ransom.
Unfortunately, she was returned to the novel by my nemesis, Thursday Next, and she killed me during the fire in Thornfield Hall. I still live on in Next’s memory. Or at least I used to; now it appears I live in the head of my typist. This pleases me, as she does not censor quite as much as Next would were I to instruct her to take down my thoughts. I KICK PUPPIES.
As it appears that this is going to be my afterlife, I want to see how many others here share that grief. Who else here is dead? Who killed you?
Unfortunately, she was returned to the novel by my nemesis, Thursday Next, and she killed me during the fire in Thornfield Hall. I still live on in Next’s memory. Or at least I used to; now it appears I live in the head of my typist. This pleases me, as she does not censor quite as much as Next would were I to instruct her to take down my thoughts. I KICK PUPPIES.
As it appears that this is going to be my afterlife, I want to see how many others here share that grief. Who else here is dead? Who killed you?