So I've not written anything in a few days, and I meant to! I was going to tell you about the war between the intelligent races, ending in the peace and the division of the continents.
But, alas, I fell asleep on the keyboard. And I've spent the last few days using my magic to get the fur out from between the keys.
So I've decided to instead tell you of the ghost that haunts me. A long time ago, during the war, I used my magic in self defense. I'd been captured by humans, and they were torturing me for information I did not have.
So I unleashed a spell, filled with raw, unbridled power. All the humans that were holding me, torturing me, they died.
Their spirits all were demolished as well, nothing was left.
But I created a ghost, for there is no forgiveness for what I've done, no forgiveness for using my magic to kill.
The ghost is invisible to everyone, and I only hear him in whispers. But he tortures me, he hurts me constantly. A pain indescribable, for it isn't like physical pain.
The ghost reaches into me, touches my soul, and causes it to crack in tiny amounts each time. For several millennia this has happened, and my soul is almost broken.
Broken by my own mind.
The dragons told me this would happen, but also told me something I cannot yet take to heart.
They told me that while using magic to kill was unforgivable, and the majority of dragons who have done so have died of broken souls eventually, those who can atone for their crime will eventually survive and heal.
But how can I atone for my crime?
I've healed and helped, I've made sure the families of all those men were cared for, wealthy, healthy. But...those men can never see the afterlife, they can never have peace. They just have nothing.
Perhaps....
But no! I live! I survive and suffer for all time.
My soul will not break, for if I die, I cannot suffer for what I've done!
And my ghost knows that, I think. Occasionally when he touches my soul, it is with a cool healing touch, reeking of shadows and darkness. And I know that my soul will last all the longer for this care.
But now?
My black couch is calling my name, waiting to be covered in thick white fur.
Following art by Florapi
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