Hello, Legends and Luminaries!
Would you want to live forever? Watch the world change and evolve? What about being remembered for hundreds and hundreds of years? There’s so much you could do to be immortal. Ironically, you’ll need to race the clock to achieve it , because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
Make Me Immortal
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
The concept of immortality is almost as old as time itself. For as long as we’ve had the sundial and the clepsydra, the astrolabe and the hourglass, and the classic ticking wall clock we know today, we’ve had the desire to freeze such devices, halting the march of time itself.
Sure, making oneself immortal in the literal sense is a bit… uh… impossible. But stories go back as far as the stars can remember of beings who were— and possibly still are— alive and kicking for longer than their little red fleshy tickers should have allowed. There’s the vampire, of course; a being of the night that feeds on the blood of the living, turns into rats, bats, or other creatures, is fended off with holy water, crosses and garlic, and disintegrates in the sun. Plenty of stories have been woven with this creature, some even playing with the lore behind them a little. There’s the Gods themselves, sitting upon their thrones or doing whatever they desire simply to entertain themselves, though as many stories tell, this usually involves interacting with the humans who worship them, whether it’s playing tricks on them, making them prophets and “speakers” for the Gods, or simply wooing human women.
But there’s more than just these ways to be immortal, depending on how you want to look at the definition of the word. To be immortal, yes, one can be made to live forever, but there’s also the other definition for it; deserving to be remembered forever.
A person could be completely mortal in the literal sense, being born to human parents, growing at the normal human rate, exploring life’s many adventures, and eventually reaching their elderly years and passing gently in their sleep. But what if they did something great during their life? Perhaps they discovered a cure for some otherwise deadly disease. Maybe they were not only a huge stepping stone in the moving forward of technology, but even advanced it by leaps and bounds. Maybe they were a celebrity that everyone just loved, both on and off camera. Or maybe they weren’t even given a lot of attention in life, and only became immortal after their deaths. For whatever reason, they are immortalized in documentaries and movies, in books and awards. Or perhaps the immortal ones are simply that way because those still alive remember them, and celebrate them during Mexico’s Día de los Muertos festivities.
There’s plenty of ways one can become immortal. Whether those reasons are good or bad, is up to the person achieving that immortality.
So what are you waiting for? Time waits for no one! Get out there, and leave your memorable mark on the world!
Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!
The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.
Rules and Guidelines
We read at least four stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and two of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!
Text and Formatting
- English only.
- Prose only, no poetry or lyrics.
- Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
- Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
- Use two paragraph breaks between each paragraph so that they have a proper space between them (press “enter” or “return” twice).
- Include a submission title and an author name (doesn’t have to be your real name). Do not include any additional symbols or flourishes in this part of your submission. Format them exactly as you see in this example, or your submission may not be eligible: Example Submission.
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What to Submit
- Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
- Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
- Write something brand new; no re-submitting past entries or pieces written for other purposes
- No fan fiction whatsoever. Take inspiration from whatever you’d like, but be transformative and creative with it. By submitting, you also agree that your piece does not infringe on any existing copyrights or trademarks, and you have full license to use it.
- Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
- One submission per participant.
- Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
- Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
- You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible. Your reviews must be at least 50 words long, and must be left directly on the submission you are reviewing, not on another comment. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
- Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
- Use the same e-mail for your posts, reviews, and likes, or you may be rendered ineligible (you may change your username or author name between posts without problem, however).
- You may submit to either or both the public/private groups if you have access, but if you decide to submit to both, only the private group submission will be eligible.
- Understand that by submitting here, you are giving us permission to read your submission aloud live on stream and upload public, archived recordings of said stream to our social media platforms. You will always be credited, but only by the author name you supply as per these rules. No other links or attributions are guaranteed.
Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.
The Revived aren’t immortal…
But neither are they mortal.
Death-touched. Fate-twisted. Unspent spirits that refused- for one reason or another to be snuffed out. And whatever that reason may be, all too often decides what they will become. Guardians- Gatekeepers akin to Cobalt, are common. Though some merely sleep like the souls within the Coalition or the Sentinels that loom before her.
Their statures face outwards, ivy-wrapped and shrouded in overgrowth. Half-obscured by the dancing boughs of trees and hip-high grasses. Standing guard against any threat that might approach this long-forgotten portal to Dedomillia. Unknowingly trapping a threat within the walls of their garden.
Because for every creature of light, there is a creature of darkness. Those who protect and those who destroy. Those who use their gifts to heal and mend. And those that let their own power consume them.
This is what stalks Cobalt through the garden.
The plants wither beneath their feet…their hooves… their hands. Their oil-sludge bodies shifting constantly from one abominable form to another- unable to hold their shape. Bones that bend at odd angles. Eyes in too many places. Shadows which are not shadows flickering in and out of reality itself. The stench of decay, sickly-sweet curdles the winter air.
Their metallic cries pierce past Cobalt’s labored breathing
Inevitably she stumbles. Catches her foot on some vine or cracked stone. Slams palms and knees to the ground as the beasts’ hunting cries grow louder…closer…closer still. By the time she’s stumbled to her feet they’re nearly on her. Snapping teeth and bloodied claws.
“Stay back!” She swings, blue flames arching off her already drawn sword.
Her Broken kinsmen slam mindlessly through it, fire licking down their hides. Shadows of their former selves only driven by the need to destroy…to consume, they barrel forwards.
Until Cobalt closes her fist, draws the heat from the December air and wraps it around them. One stumbles. Two fall. The ones which the flames do not end, meet her sword instead. Cobalt fights bloodied and bruised until she stands in the silence of the burning heaps of flame.
What is Immoral?
by Jesse Fisher
I closed the world off one last time as the beeping of the monitor began to slow.
I open myself to the world again, the tone still ringing in the room. The doctors called time of death for the bag of bone that was once me. Age had claimed it as it did for all before myself. Others had tried, some gave me the keys to what was needed to break the cycle.
The stabilizers kept me steady in this new form. The whirling and subtle click of my new joints fill the air that once carried my breath. The sound of a zipper came to my audio receptors, they were taking him away.
This was something I could not even think of processing, either emotionally or logically. I could feel the ghost of what I was, my manipulators were alien to me yet this was me.
I could feel the person walking towards me, I knew what they were going to say. I wondered what I would say.
That memory, that last human memory, haunted me. The years were what I tried to recall. My family grew away from me, grandkids and beyond fell through the cracks that led to one of my descendants coming to work for me only to know me as the man who did the impossible.
They had the same burning passion that I had on the start of my journey, something I’ve lacked now.
They recreated the means that made me, wishing to join me.
I would stop them, but the hollowness might just be lessen.
By Hemming Sebastian Bane
The chill of the nighttime breeze cut through Kai’s threadbare clothes. The packed dirt of the road was almost ice beneath his feet. The boy steeled himself as he approached the crossroads. He looked up at the stars and considered their positions. It was just about time. Kai chanted under his breath and waited.
It wasn’t long before Kai could smell tobacco smoke and rum. The boy looked to the left, and there was a person standing in the middle of the crossroads. Shadow covered his form in an unnatural way; Kai could see he was wearing the finest clothes, but little else, save two burning purple motes of flame in the head.
A chill ran down Kai’s spine, but he ignored it. “Are you—”
“Hey, you tell me, kid. You’re the one who said the words.”
The boy approached the shadowy figure. “So, the stories are true.”
“True blue genuine. Now, I’ve only got an hour, kiddo. If that’s all you wanted…”
The shadowy figure turned to go.
“W-wait!” Kai yelled, reaching out. “If… if the stories are true, can… can you—”
“Spit it out, kid! What part of I only have an hour do you not understand?!”
The flames flared up for a moment.
“I just wanted to know if you could save my grandmother!” Kai blurted.
The figure stepped back. “Wait a minute. You’re Mama Charity’s grandson?!”
A hearty laugh erupted into the area as the shadow shook.
Kai’s eyes lit up. “You know my grandmother?!”
“KNOW your grandmother? Charity and I go WAY back!”
“So you can save her life?”
The shadowy figure scoffed. “Save her? Kid, I can do MORE than save her.”
Kai smiled. “So, you’ll save her?”
“Sure, kid. On one condition. You see, I need collateral.”
Kai blinked a few times. “Collateral?”
“You know… I’ll give you this if you do that for me.”
“Oh! Yeah. Sure.”
“Glad we could come to an agreement. Now, what do I want?”
Kai stared wide-eyed at the shadow. “I-I don’t have any money.”
“Oh no. I don’t want money; I want your heart, kid.”
Fragments of What Remains (Oneiron Universe)
Alfred turned to the picture again, the three figures on its surface blissfully unaware of their unfortunate futures. He caught a glimpse of a grotesquely thin creature in his periphery and sighed as he turned to face him.
“You know, he designed this facility when he was twelve. When he showed us the layout and the intricate details of his vision, we chalked it up to childish dreams. He was the baby of our group and me and his brother were already jaded by reality. This world had no place for dreamers.”
The thin creature timidly stepped closer, unsure of whether the words were directed toward him. His voice was shaky, his response almost a whisper. “What happened?”
“Come closer and I’ll tell you. You don’t have to be afraid of me anymore, Thirteen. My reaction was from a lack of understanding. The director set me straight. He could always keep us grounded.”
Alfred placed the picture on the desk and spun it around for Thirteen to see. He pointed at the people starting from the left.
“This is me, the right one is Andrew, and that one in the middle, that’s Jamie, who you’ve known as the director. Their mother took this picture of us after Jamie finished high school. I called off sick from work so I could be there, and I believe Andrew was preparing to go to college in a few weeks. At the time, nothing could separate our bond.”
Thirteen could tell there was great sorrow underneath the words that Alfred spoke. “Things changed. Didn’t they?”
“Time proved us wrong. I lost my job shortly after Andrew’s accident and Jamie grew more obsessed with technology to cope. He hired me on as soon as he could, but Jamie had changed. It was no longer about simple virtual reality games. It was about creating ideal worlds where people could run from their ails. In a way, he had defeated death with denial.”
Thirteen understood. “The CiRFiS.”
Alfred nodded. “As long as Oneiron Corporation still stands, the Pulchant brothers will live forever, exactly as Jamie had planned.”
The Cost of Eternity
By: ThatWeirdFish (Reviewed by Specter)
You have done everything. Fought angels and demons, trekked through the deepest parts of the universe, sacrificed everything you’ve held dear… and, finally, you arrived at the door. His door.
You raised your hand to knock, but the door swung open on its own.
“Come in, come in. Make yourself at home,” his disembodied said cordially.
“Oh, don’t explain yourself,” he cut you off while you inhaled to speak. “We both know what you’re here for.”
Your throat went dry as you nodded and stepped into the messy study. You turned to the desk at the sound of rustling paper, only to see sheets of music flutter to the floor.
“A human, figures,” his disappointed voice muttered right behind you.
You whipped around, but nothing was there. Was that… the scent of licorice? That’s… oddly specific. You slowly turned back around and flinched as those cunning golden eyes pierced your soul with their gaze.
“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we,” he said coldly. “You in your infinite wisdom decided to bargain with chaos to gain the power of the gods?”
“Yes… I… wanted to….” You falter under his unblinking gaze.
“Save the world? Your lover? Fulfill some righteous cause?” He sneered. “Your excuse doesn’t matter to me. What can you, a mortal, offer to a god of gods?”
He raised an eyebrow over his scrutinizing gaze as he waited.
“Everything you want: soul, body, mind,” You plead to the entity. “Just… don’t let me die.”
He chuckled and spoke as if addressing a child. “If you gave me your everything, why, you will die. For I have no use for any of it. Why take a mind when I can think for myself? Why eat a body if I feel no hunger?”
He stepped closer with a dark frown.
“Why would I accept an offering given to any basic demon?” His eyes narrowed at you.
“I have nothing else… please… grant me immortality. I’ll pay any price, do anything!”
“Actually… there is something I can take in exchange,” He said, looking you over. “Your emotions.”
“Deal,” You said indifferently.
To Glorify His Rule
by Carrie (Glaceon373)
“I’m close, so very close,” Mayor Trevor paced slowly in front of his window, marching back and forth. “But not quite there yet.”
“Of course, sir,” the steward responded from his post by the door.
“I won the election. The closest election in this city’s history, even!” A sharp, snappy turn, pace uninterrupted. “Just less than half the population was furious, without a doubt. But they probably calmed down when we handled the Glisphinn Bridge flood in only a day, yes? The papers loved it, I’m sure, but they loved the officers, the volunteers, the ‘success of the community’ and whatnot.”
He slowed his steps, almost as if he were waiting for a response. The steward did not reply, for he was used to overhearing the working minds of politicians. He did not speak unless directly spoken to, except to offer the occasional piece of praise.
Trevor shook his head at the steward’s silence and resumed his rhythmic pacing. “They didn’t love ME for it. Nevermind that my first few acts in office were all about security, and that my whole election platform was security; but no, this is a ‘people’s victory’ and nothing more. They won’t put this in the history books next to a portrait of me, if it’s important enough to be in the books at all!”
Trevor’s ceaseless pace reached a sudden halt. He turned towards the door. “Well? Have any brilliant ideas behind those drooping eyes of yours, steward?”
“I… I am not a trained advisor, sir. I have no solution for you. My job is to simply bring you provisions should you ask for them, and to remind you of the date and time of meetings.”
“Is that really all you do? No assistance with my actual work? You have nothing to offer to make my rule extraordinary?”
“… No, sir.”
“Then you’re fired. I can’t have useless attendants in my ranks.”
The steward gasped, then dropped his head. “Of course, sir.”
“Make sure your replacement has something worthwhile to say every now and again!” Trevor called as the steward left his post.
By Daniel Weaver
The low-pitched humming of the machinery filled my ears, numbing out every other voice, including my thoughts. It was soothing. The silence covered my every part, filling my head, my lungs. I was floating in the absence of sound. Until a hand broke through the border of my numbness, pulling me to the surface.
I opened my eyes. The bright lights felt like needles, piercing my retinas. I heard a voice, but I only heard muffled nonsense, barely recognizable. But I knew nonetheless. It was my friend, calling out my name, over and over.
I flipped over and tried to get up, but collapsed soon after. How long was I out for? It had to have been thousands of years. How else could I forget the plague eating away my muscles? My left leg was essentially useless. Not to mention the reminder that breathing is also a challenge when your lungs are filled with blood, and not air alone.
“VINCENT!” called out the voice through a thick layer of mist sitting in my ears.
“Right. And I’m a whore, high out of my mind on the streets”
“Put me back,” I whispered, coughing up more blood.
“Are you out of your mind? You almost-”
“PUT ME BACK!” I yelled, cutting him short. “Please, Patrick… If we are friends, you have to let me back.”
I saw the hesitation in his eyes, contemplating all the choices we made that led to this moment. I felt my body becoming weightless as Patrick lifted me.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked while plugging me in.
“Humans have always evolved to be greater. This sickness has NO cure. What choice do I have? Evolution is my only option. It has to work…” I took a deep breath and a last look at my friend. By the end, I’ll either be something else, or I’ll be dead. “I’m ready.” – a grin crept across my face – “Would you kindly, make me immortal?”
The Price of Rememberance
Within the chaos and tumult of the storms, Larum found peace. She had long since learned that her mind was at the clearest when the skies weren’t. The angry winds and vengeful waves gave her something to focus on, something to draw her attention away from the overflow of thoughts she often played host to.
The boat rocked beneath her, bouncing off the stormy tides and sending spray flying far above the deck. The rest of the crew grabbed on for dear life as they manned their stations, but not her. Even the Captain gripped the wheel with white-knuckled intensity, praying to Maile’i that she might show them mercy.
Larum stood atop the prow, staring out at the white capped waves and grey clouds. Storms always had a way of draining the colour from the world. Most people hated them for this, among other reasons. But she found a different kind of beauty within the hammering rains and roaring thunder.
Their destination was in sight, yet it had never felt so far away. The last resting place of a Navigator, said to contain a fragment of their power. There was a sudden crack of lightning, and the smell of smoke and char not long after. The mast splintered and fell forward, smashing through the deck and into the ocean below. As it fell the gaff collided with the back of her head, and everything went black.
The next thing she remembered was the warm, coarse sand beneath her. Then, the hot sun beating against her eyelids. Rising slowly to her feet, she saw the wreckage of the ship far out in the ocean before her. None of the rest of the crew had made it, it seemed.
Alone on the island, she smiled. She had spent much of the trip thinking of ways to take the treasure for herself, and now it seemed the Gods had spared her the trouble. She would claim the power within the temple, and ensure that her name be spoken of in fear and reverence until the last Path is walked.
The True Price (Unlikely Heroes)
C. M. Weller
A conquerer king dragged Wraithvine to his court in chains. There, the king in armour demanded, “You who are immortal, share your secret. Choose silence, and be executed.”
“Has his Majesty considered the paradox of threatening an immortal with death? I got my gift from the gods. They don’t like having those gifts destroyed, as I recall.”
“Then some years in my dungeon may change your mind.”
Wraithvine allowed the guards to drag hir away.
Once every year, the king would drag Wraithvine up and demanded the secret of immortality or go back to the oubliette. Wraithvine chose the oubliette.
Ten years, the king was still a blood-soaked conqueror. Twenty, he had found a wife and begun a family. Thirty, the new prince was gaining the hearts of the populace. Forty, and the king grew desperate.
“I need your secret,” said the king. “My hold on everything is slipping away. My son is easily lead astray by the voices of PEASANTS. I can’t let such a disaster unfold.”
Wraithvine said, “Do you really need it? Or merely want it?”
“Give it to me and I will let you have any reward you want. Name your price.”
Wraithvine said, “Abdicate.”
Ten more years, and the king was starting to grow weak. “Every weasel with an eye on my crown is coming after me. They all end up on the executioner’s block. Even my son has turned against me.”
“Nothing at all related to how you’re executing everyone who crosses you, I’m sure.”
“Tell me your secret or I execute my boy.”
“Step one: be at the beginning, when the gods walked the land. Step two: be pure enough to place your hand on a gods heart. Step three: make a vow and believe it. Step four: Watch everything you know change so much that it is foreign to you. You will be compelled to keep your oath. For. All. Time.”
He struggled to free his sword. “That’s useless!”
“Then let your son take the crown, or see everything you’ve made go to your enemies. I’ve seen it happen thousands of times.”
“Careful What You Wish For” by Magan (Legends of Dra’cora)
God-King Glacialstorm watched the dead beastfolk carefully. The beastfolk revived; the ice dragon jolted notes. Satisfied, the dragon left his laboratory under the palace-temple.
Glacialstorm’s orca-colored scales gleamed in sunlight as he flew over his city, Ironfang. He sighed at another angry mob tracking his movements from below. The beastfolk in his lab was the 5th assassin this month. Was he REALLY a tyrant for indulging in banquets, finaries, and females while ruling with an iron claw and using his subjects for magical testing?
Yes. But it was his right. His parents were too soft, not taking advantage of ruling. To the rabble’s credit, this latest coup was led by the smartest of his many bastard children, so that breeding experiment had proven fruitful.
Defeating the mob, Glacialstorm sealed his palace. This latest experiment was successful, everything was ready. He would truly become a god. Death was for lesser creatures. He wasn’t afraid of death, of course not! But why risk the Maw of Oblivion for a CHANCE at Afterlife when living was more comfortable?
He performed final needed magic, then died, staging suicide.
His ghost laughed when everyone got sick at the funerary feast. He’d tainted his body with poison.
The phylactery housed his soul perfectly, but was boring. Next week, he emerged whole from his tomb to shock, awe, and terror. Thoroughly cowed, his subjects accepted his divine rule without further open revolt…
Something was wrong.
His body and mind were decaying, with no cure. The city was soon full of undead in his control, but he lost interest in toying with them.
Why was he always hungry?
Oh, thank the gods! Monster hunters! Company!
Living subjects to rule! Now if they would STAY alive…
The endless hunger for life gnawed at him…
That phoenix flying at him looked tasty. And more morsels were stuck in the tar-like ash of corrupted magic… His phylactery needed souls to keep working, but he was a god. Eventually, he would rule all of Dra’cora…
He didn’t. Imprisoned, too powerful to slay, he was immortalized as a nightmare, Dra’cora’s Doom, the Nex.
A Small Sacrimony
By RVMPLSTLTSKN (The Saga of The Deep One’s Wake)
The age-twisted man stood at the precipice of his temple, a paltry form clothed in the raiment of his tattered past. Beneath him, the city of Tukminaluk squallored with hungry mouths and gaunt faces. He held an obsidian knife, bloodstained long ago and often, knapped by his first sacrifiant. Today, he thought, would be the last day he would have to do this. He would break past the threshold, he would ascend, his promises would be kept, he would be a benevolent god and deserve their worship.
A cadre of cleric hopefuls stood behind him, with them the bantlings of their choosing from the worst-off families. They were tomorrow’s priesthood, today. Kneeling before him, another cadre awaited the climax of his ritual. The mechanic was simple, but the show was equally important. With his knife, he carved glyphs into the sacrifiants’ skin and sliced open their clavicles. The priesthood removed the hearts. This was the ritual.
The mechanic was different and needed no glyphs or hearts, only souls which he sliced free of their carnal cages with an ambitious zeal. They were caught then, frozen by their beliefs and identities. This was why he created the ritual and chose only the most faithful children to forge this artifice of eternity.
Osareph felt their souls swirl in the aether around him. A promise of prosperity had been made, that was his religion. He felt full; a man slowly starving, finally getting nourishment. Ambition requires so much, wants so much, it carves a hollow place in the soul. Osareph raised his knife from the last corpse. The souls gathered fast to him, believing him the vessel of his promise.
“Master, is that all?” A bright-eyed boy asked. He had almost been chosen. His ambition could be problematic.
“Are you volunteering to die?”
“To serve our people.”
Osareph laid one papery hand on his shoulder. “Then serve me.”
The knife bit deep into Osareph’s gut. He gasped as he drove the blade higher, searching for his own dark heart, freezing his soul and distilling it through death, arrogating all those souls he murdered.
The Reward She Deserved (Nyx’s Story)
By Calliope Rannis
Lord Lectara wasn’t hiding anything anymore. That polite glamour of an elderly noble that he wore above was nowhere to be seen, and instead stood a visage of marble skin, long fangs and eyes burning like flaming coals in boiling blood.
“You have been doing good work for us, Miss Murnor. Yes, some good work indeed.” He strode towards her, a golden jewel-encrusted chalice hanging lazily in one hand. “I think it’s about time for your reward, isn’t it?”
Nyx almost gasped, her breath seizing up under his boiling gaze. She was terrified, she could admit that to herself now – but a thrill, a catharsis rushed through her body too. Because-
“Yes, I know EXACTLY what you desire.” An intense smile grew across his stony face. “You may have never said it, but I know what you want. For it is something that only one such as I can provide.”
Lord Lectara looked away for a moment, seeming to consider the chalice in his hand. “Knowing what you want is easy, Miss Murnor. But…I would like to know why. Why come to us, of all places? What is the hole inside of you that cannot be filled anywhere else?”
A small, painful pause. Then…
“It’s unfair.” (She hated how childlike she sounded.) “It’s unfair that my life, my years in this world, should be cut short by an imperfection of birth. Why can’t I live for as long as other gnomes can, just because of the stain of human essence in my blood? I lose centuries, CENTURIES, of potential life and experience, and for what?” She spat. “To be a little taller, a little thinner? To be ‘different’, or ‘special’? Worthless!”
She breathed heavily, trying to calm herself. “I just…I just want a life. A real life, a long life. A life where I have the time to do everything I want.” Nyx looks up to meet Lord Lectara’s eyes.
“Let me have this. Let me have that time. I don’t even need the immortality you possess, I just need more time. Will you provide that for me?”