It was then and there, Spending the cold few furtive moments along a fleeting, epiphanous solace under the view of the stars and aurorae above. After living for oh, so long, one tends to forget the sheer minisculinity that comes with being "alive" when paired with "time."
Stale. That's the word for it. The world becomes quite stale for an Immortal. It —the existence of the concept such as "immortality"—was a joke in quite poor fashion to be honest, but still, even the poorest of jokes gets a laugh from a few weirdos.
Ænectheiss, Thuiema, K'xezatte, Wilfeust, Fraumme, Chastre.
In the worlds where you all now linger, are you happy?
How I miss you, my friends quite dearly.
I'm tired… I've been trying my hardest here since then. Many a moon has passed, seasons have come-forth and wayward. Flowers have bloomed and wilted many…. And the joyful laughter on blooming full moon nights are everso wakingly absent.
I wonder will our paths have not met if I had not been cursed by the lands to witness any and all?
I question myself that alot especially after the sun dusks over the horizon.
Tonight, I will burn this book of my— our memories as a toast to your journeys before I return to the embrace of the lands.
~
Tyrr illune ßir flær'ea sōmn eschæl prœna. (The Night is beautiful because of these uncertain changes.)