One dark mourning, the wonderful clatter of bones ringing through the dark realm as I kick my feet back and forth.
This chair, reclined in the way of a dentist's table, is my one place of rest. This chair, made of maple wood, is my only living possession. Bones of the fallen surround my chair, being eaten by the corrosive darkness of the world around me. A carcass, permanently skewered onto the chair, is rotting. Bloodless, yet a grey tone seeps from the hole in the chest cavity. A rancid odor spreads around, but not a single person around to smell. A low moan from this tomb escapes my mouth, but no one is around to hear me. I look around the room once more, only seeing pure darkness. Though I feel nothing from my body, I sense a chill going down my spine at all times. I, a godly creature, has become so vulnerable as to lay here, unmoving. I, yet again, try to get up, to no avail. I rest my head back onto the twisted and gnarled wood of my chair, feeling something crawl on my face again.
In this land of make-believe, I see my previous lives. Each of them being a being of undefeatable power, yet each are defeated in the end. Sadly, though, I do not get that blessing like my forefathers. Even in my dreams, I see myself on the chair, but from a different perspective. My rotting corpse, impaled on the legendary sword, lays in the middle of an ever growing bone pile. Many bones continue to rain a few meters behind my body, very slowly filling the room from whatever gets off the bone mountain. Of course, in my waking hours of silence, I cannot see the mountain of those I had slain.
But I feel it growing behind me as my magic is seeped from me.
My mind, diluted with the smut of my actions, asks every mourning, 'How was I caught?'