Nyldry stared up at the heavens, just as he did every night. He cleared his throat, just as he did every night. And, just like every night, the light of the gods shone down on his hopeful face.
"O immortals, hear my plea..." he began, his voice wavering with fear.
"Yes, yes, we've heard it over and over," boomed a mighty voice from somewhere far above. "'O immortals, glorious and gracious blah blah blah, please end this curse and return me to my family blah blah blah.'" The voice did not sound happy. "Listen to me, Nyldry, for the last time. You are an abomination, your very existence an affront to creation. Your heinous crimes too gut-wrenching to speak of." The light grew brighter. "The very fact of your continued existence on this earth is proof of the limitless mercy of the gods. REQUEST DENIED." The light went out.
In the pitch blackness, Nyldry sobbed and sobbed. Tears streaming down his stony face. Try as he might, he could never remember what he'd done wrong.