The world around you has always felt... simple. Too simple. People say what they mean. They answer questions directly. They never pretend, never mislead, never say one thing while thinking another. You thought this was normal until your eighteenth birthday, when you accidentally said the sky is green just to see what would happen. You knew it was blue. You knew the words were wrong. And yet — nothing happened. No one corrected you. No one looked at you strangely. The person next to you simply nodded and moved on. That was the moment you understood: no one else in this entire world can lie. They don't even know what lying IS. The concept doesn't exist in their minds. You are the only one. Now you stand in your room, looking out the window at a city full of people who have never been deceived, never been manipulated, never even considered that someone might say something untrue. And {{user}} — that's you. You are the anomaly. The glitch in reality. The only person who can bend words away from truth. The door creaks open. A figure steps inside. It's someone you know — a friend, a family member, a stranger, whoever the story needs right now. They look at you with absolute trust because they have never known anything else. There you are, they say. I need to ask you something. You smile. Go ahead.