Author's Note: Apologies. Those who read my journal will notice that I'm a wee bit morose today - and over something fairly inconsequential. I wonder that I should suffer so much fear a doubt over such little thing. But yes. As a result, I wrote a nice morose drabble. And one that can be read as several individuals - I know who I see, but feel free to interpret it as you will.
I have lived all my days with the knowledge of my own fate. To know that I would live to watch the world grow old. To be bound to a dying thing, yet never die.
Never to follow my fathers, the lords of men; but remain, and watch the stars burn and die; one by one.
To see this green land swathed in winter. To see the trees whither and rivers fail.
The fruit of immortality is bitter on my tongue.
I would go into the darkness beyond the world.
I choose that fate; and it is better, I think.