Pierre Havelock is the sort of person people look at and think of words like: 'Arrogant, Proud, Aristocratic' - And those are just the polite phrases used.

To give credit where due, Pierre is also the sort of man who understands why others think that - In his 50's but not looking a day over 35 (Except for a head of grey hair).

A highly successful author and quite the millionaire off the back of it; 

'People are always jealous of those they perceive as having more.

People can always rationalise their own insecurities as being someone else's, someone more "important's" fault'

However Mr.Havelock 'O-B-E', best-selling author, household-name and millionaire - Does not have it all.

In fact in his opinion he: 'Lost it all a very long time ago, Thank you very much'.

Not that many would actually know this, by all accounts Pierre just appeared some few decades ago.

Despite the relentless hordes of journalist's best efforts, there is no proof the man even existed before publishing his first novel - No school friends, no traceable family or even country of origin - To all concerned parties Pierre Havelock simply appeared one day and started writing books, 'Quite successful ones at that.'

And so when in a flash of seemingly familiar light, a blinding white-hot glow of the atoms of the world shifting, squirming, burning open a hole in the very reality of this Earth's fabric occurred - All inside Mr.Havelock's quaint little walnut-wood lined study - Pierre found himself to be most displeased.

Even more so when through this altogether overly generic light show - That he for one would of found, Far too trite a contrivance to ever write into one of his books, Thank you very much!

When out of this miracle of the bending and collapsing and reasserting all at once of the very space-time continuum itself, (that peculiarly seemed to leave the faint wafting smell of toast into his study) stepped out none other then what Pierre could only have described as 'An anime girl' - One with all the likeness to one of his own character creations, of that character --

Well it would be fair to say, that as Pierre Havelock stared up from his thick leatherwork chair over at the young women stepping through that blistering portal - The girl who couldn't of been far into her twenties, with her bleach-white hair in a neat braid down past one shoulder, and a truly ridiculous 'Knight's get-up' covering her from head to toe (Crimson-red cape, green battle-kilt, sword by her side - And all the rest) - In that moment during his evening tea, Pierre Havelock thought only one thing;

‘No, just no. No Thank you very much indeed!’