I have wandered these worlds many a millennia. Studding. Living amongst the common and the rich. I am impossibly old. I have witnessed worlds born and die. Days do not pass as I ponder my role. My purpose. Why does death evade me? Is the pursuit of knowledge so profound it transcends the laws of nature? Could it be penance for my sins?
Well, it is certainly possible.
The worlds I’ve seen, too many to count. Yet I wonder, why they stay so vividly within consciousness? The colors, the sound... even the population. Its almost haunting. Almost as if they cling to my being, refusing to be forgotten. Refusing to be lost. They...they claw and tear.
The worlds they are from, they are gone. Pointless rocks floating in an endless abyss without stars. As is my predicament. I am the center of this and countless realities. As is, I am the only thing that matters, for I am the only thing that lives. My eyes, they see being, life, but it’s always consumed by this impossible darkness.
What have I done? I do not remember, yet there are fragments. A mere puzzle that grows less complex as time goes on. Are these my memories? What purpose do they serve in this void? They are meaningless, and yet, as I’ve learned, I am powerless to my own psyche.
I must do something, my mind begs for relief. And in my current state, all I can do is retell their stories. Stories of those who deemed themselves necessary. And yet, feared as monsters.