Faal Laat Lovaas (The Last Song)

Resentful gods will curse a mortal muse who sings too loudly; one who would dare to wake them from their eternal slumber with their song. In their eyes, a quaint proclamation of love and celebration of life, simple, ephemeral joys that they will never know, for song is beneath them. 

It is now, that I know love's infinite endurance, for it is smiled upon my back from the depths of bottomless shadow. Lovers and friends beyond number; they provide comfort even as they watch the frayed guitar string upon which I've lived my mortal life ring its final notes.

And still, my Hands, they pluck this song, for they've held my heart for so long as to know the tempo of its every fading beat. They will serve their new master well, for the midnight dragoness' heart beats strongly in her youth. 

In its features and familiarity, this body had once become the true home for my soul that is now evicted into the depth of the unknown endlessness that lies before me. Still, I am wound with the muse I've walked alongside for so very long. Only now, I can look it in the eye. She has already taken the form of my successor.

It is her, who has now Awakened me.

I Know her, profoundly. For she is me. She is my past, and my future.

The guitar string finally breaks, unravels, and disappears into the black. I thank it, for giving me such a treasured gift as its song. Weightlessness takes me for a fleeting moment.

Still, I am Awakened.

For the first time, I have felt the sand of the starlight beach of dreams between my toes and known the depth from which the muse was wrought; crafted, fine and flaw, purely for the merit of its being. 

Life, once a vanishingly brief, fleeting glimpse into the impossible breadth and complexity of potential, now resolved to the path of my lineage, life and legacy laid out at once and known, truly. Finally, I know my story, as it has been written from beginning to end. It has been painstakingly crafted for so many centuries.

And now it is finally done.

Footprints in black sand fade beneath a black surf. Her watchful moon rises.

I can see now, at the end of all perception, that which was writ by my Hands laid upon an unfurled scroll. I know what I have touched, and can feel the vibration of my guitar's string still resonating through my kin, to become part of their stories in turn.

And soon will come the quiet sigh as the black water rises and consumes all. 

And I will know its eternal depths. 

And I will know that it is for me to fill with my song. 

It always was mine and mine alone, and it always will be. 

May resentful gods never again know sleep. 

I am free.