Standing alone, The Pandragon looked into the summer night. All was still in this world that they had made, but, ultimately, The Pandragon was alone now.
They had lost their allies, they had lost their friends, and The Pandragon had, ultimately, lost their sense of time. Time became warped in the subways of their mind. Days became weeks, seconds lasted forever, and happiness was replaced by nothing but emptiness.
The memories of their friendship were sometimes still there, but were now becoming a distant memory that would be lost and now hurt to think about.
Now in bed, they slept for days, their hair growing longer and longer. The Princess of The Night was no more, she was a shell of her former self. She was unkempt and dirty, and her eyes sagged with her tainted view of the world - a world of her own making.
For all that mattered, she might as well have sewed her mouth shut with how little she now talked.
She hated herself, more than anyone could ever know. She was fat and her body had too many scars on. Scars that she made herself out of anger, shame, frustration, and lust to have back her friendships that she knew she would never have again. It was too late. She cried. On her own.
Reality, or at least her's, was lost. She had gone mad with the lack of contact, she used to be so free, but now she was a prisoner in her own mind. A mind that would run at a billion kilometres a second, she was mad.
Looking into the sun, she thought about death. She was scared of it, but wanted it if she would be alone any longer, she was, after all, a broken woman with nothing to gain and everything to lose, but she was no longer at the top.
Standing alone, The Pandragon looked into the summer night. All was still in this world that they had made, but, ultimately, The Pandragon was still alone.
Copyright 2023-04-05 - by Cass "Owly" Python, licensed under the FOPL-MDP. Please see humans.txt for full credit and thanks.