“Wake up already! Wake up!”

My eyes shot open only to squeeze shut again—the sun’s harsh glare was blinding. Slowly, I adjusted to the luminescence, noticing bars of light decorating my sheets. It must’ve been a dream.

I sighed, realizing that I was once again back to square one. Yesterday, I was a hundred miles away from home, captivated by the dazzling sight of what I assumed was my final sunset. Today, I’m back in the serenity of my bedroom with my last memory of getting blown to bits by a nuclear bomb while enjoying the chewy texture of a pumpkin empanada and tarty sweetness of Ceylon cardamom tea.

Most people would’ve found the idea of a second chance tantalizing; I did too. But after the fourth time, it can get a bit tedious.

A sudden sharp pain burned my forehead. I grabbed at my temples, feeling the beads of cold sweat drip down my face. I bit down a shout as memories flooded my head—they usually did after I’d respawned.

My first death was horrifying! I’d managed to catch some cancerous virus that caused my lungs to fail. My second death was brought on by love. The backstabber I’d fallen in love with had me brutally murdered in prison. And all for the sake of stealing the wealth I’d accumulated. My third death was emotional—imagine being offered as some sort of sacrificial animal by those you call family and burned alive.

A movement from the corner of the room caught my eye. My body felt sore enough to overlook whatever it was, and I shifted in bed. But a feathery voice forced me to shoot up again.

“So you’re finally awake, Ezra?”

I stared at the…thing. At first glance, what looked like a woman with silvery hair and a lean figure nearly had me drop my guard. Nearly. Not until I properly managed to process the two huge, translucent spots of blue trailing behind her did I find her odd again. She had a pair of glorious wings.

She was as beautiful as she was annoying, rummaging through my things, without sparing me a glance. Her dress–if you could even call it that–stopped at her mid-thigh, displaying slender legs. She was tall, not as tall as me but still far above an average American woman’s height.

Average American women didn’t have wings sprouting from their backs, I reminded myself. There was a plethora of things I could have asked: Who she was? How she got into my house? Why she had wings?

But my nervous lips went with, “Who is Ezra?”

She turned, eyeing me like a cat would a mouse while twirling a small section of that enchanting hair. She clicked her tongue as if to say she was done analyzing me, and turned back to my collection of anime figures.

In any other situation, I would’ve been vexed, but the confusion was messing with my rationale. I’d died and been brought back to this exact moment more times than I’d care to recall. Never once had I seen this..being.

In games, as you advanced, you tend to receive rewards. For instance, better equipment, and a companion—usually in the form of a pet; not a winged-spirit.

“You have lots of female figurines. Some even look like me,” she suddenly voiced her unsolicited opinion. “Are you a pervert?”

The initial shock had worn off, without the reality of the situation having kicked in yet, which left me irate as a vein popped from my forehead. Her soft, melodious voice did no justice against the nonsense she deemed perfectly acceptable to ask.

“Do you always look like that?” she tilted her head to the side.

That was just about it. I wasn’t about to let some winged-degenerate talk down to me in my own home.

“Yes, I always look like this…in my house,” she blinked and retreated to another part of my room—now taking interest in a dried up fern I had on my study. The fact that it was all shriveled up had nothing to do with the war and everything to do with my rather black thumb.

“Tsk, tsk. You can’t even keep a plant alive. It’s no wonder you’ve got no idea how to keep yourself alive.”

I froze, realizing she knew about my seemingly unlimited second chances. The first time I was brought back, I tried to tell anyone who would listen about the virus and forthcoming war. I quickly learned to keep my mouth shut.

She was busying herself bringing freshness and life back to the plant.

“You’re the one responsible for making me relive this horror so many times?” I raged.

“No, silly! That’s not my doing.”

“Then who’s?” my teeth were clenched and I tried to decide if I was raised well enough that I would pass up on a rare chance to strangle a woman.

She was evidently not scared, choosing to go back to ignoring me, now looking through my collection of manga and light novels. She fingered the spines of my books, as if it bored her but she would have to make do.

“You don’t have any ancient history books? Or romance, at the very least?” she muttered with a deep exhale that I swore released a sweep of glittery dust.

A moment of silence followed my inability to comprehend her nonchalance. She hadn’t even introduced herself and yet here she was, scrambling through my stuff.

“You look like one,” she suddenly exclaimed, beating me to break the silence. I scowl at her.

“I look like what?” I queried with caution. I’ve heard that the sweetest looking creatures were often the most deadly. The blue-ringed octopus came to mind when I caught sight of her silky hair that now had a muted tinge of blue.

She burst into laughter, covering her mouth as she did. “You look like an Ezra.”

“What’s an Ezra?”

She chuckled, “You’re an Ezra, didn’t you know that?”

She was certainly having a blast with me. “I’m Alti, I’m a fairy sent to you…Ezra.”

I was touched and felt somewhat hopeful before she continued, “They probably deemed you too stupid to get this done yourself.”