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The Journals of a Lost Elf
Therein lying the lonely writings of an elf far from hope and home.
I am the lost remnant of a civilization that, for all the world cares or knows, never existed.
I am a lost soul in a place that knows neither what I am nor what I have lost. And oh, my love, I've lost everything. My home is burnt, the World Tree charred and blackened; all the beautiful glades and forests of the only world that ever mattered have been turned to ash. And you, my love, are... you, my love, I have lost as well. Every living being in our treehome died screaming as the fires of hell itself consumed all... save one.
Here I stand, though I know not where or why, and I am not sure what to do, my love. I was always a simple elf, more prone to paint or hunt or write than philosophize, but I must ask myself: what is the reason for my survival? The ones who did this are long gone and you, my love, are gone as well. Where is your smile to chase away my doubts? Where is your touch to clarify and firm me? There can be no beauty beside the memory of you, nor world resplendent without your presence. Even these living trees are mere sticks, bereft of meaning and purpose.
Oh, if only I had contemplated what that spell would do to me! Oh, if only your tears had not swayed me as you laid that contingent dweomer over this poor, lost elf! 'Twould be a happier fate by far to die in your arms than to live a life hollowed by your absence. Now I am instead spared by your blessed, perfect selflessness and I, my love, am forever lost.
Do you remember, my love, when I was sent as ambassador far too long away and we wrote to one another? You always loved the poems I wrote you--with my "clever fingers," as you called them--but I could never compare to the easy, simple grace of your sweet words.
Perhaps I will write to you as I did then, my love. Perhaps I will linger long, waiting for your reply.
Perhaps I will dream of coming home to find your soft kiss waiting under the willow tree, as I did so long ago.
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