Life is a fickle thing…

… Hold onto it.

Once bustling with life, the monumental manor lay desolate with only a single soul to inhabit it. Alone he lived wishing for the life he once had with a party surrounding him and the pleasures of a family’s love.

No more.

No more did he enjoy what every peasant craved. He’s joined them, and it scares him to hell. Scared to hell, he faded away, never to be seen again by the eyes of man. He walked up and down the porcelain walls of his manor, always marking to see if the paintings of ancient Kings were parallel to the ground, and if the stands of shining armour were standing as they should.

But he was tormented by the endless wailing from outside the window of his now brittle manor. The screams of man made him wonder if they should survive at all. Why? Why should they survive if all they do is wail and shrill and scream and kill?

He waited for something to happen, every damn day of his pathetic life, but nothing ever did. He repeated the same day for all eternity, witnessing generations of children become adults, but never having any of his own. Why?


Then one day he waited by the door, he expected something but he didn’t know what. He sat there all day and observed life from a corner he had never seen before. He stayed there too long and decided to try something different. He wandered outside and sat in the rain, but then he woke up and woke up once again.

Again he pondered if he’d done that before, had he repeated what he’d done time and time again. He was never again seen by the eyes of man, he’d separated himself too long, haunted was the man. Haunted was the man and the manor did he haunt; never to experience life again, his life was all now gone.

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