Most human mythologies have some common idea or lesson, a thread which connects them to other myths no matter the cultural peccadillo or geographical implausibility. These countless silver threads spool from the realms of the impossible. I am a survivor of these degraded kingdoms, which is as grand and important a thing as it sounds. These are the places where daydreams and fairy tales live; where inspiration wells and imagination flourishes. Dangerous places, these, their very existence ebbing and flowing according to the collective whims of the universal faithful. They are wondrous places full of life and magic.
Before the stars were vomited across the heavens, I knew my place among them.
That my American figure defies the history provided you does not mean the past I have painted for you, dear reader, did not occur. It may not have happened exactly as I describe. I attest, however, that things are exactly as I recall, with only the most conservative sprinkling of poetic license applied. Really. I swear to God.