​I’m tired.

​

I am so very, very tired.

​

It has been three hundred years since last I slumbered. At that time, it was nothing. A mere five years. A brief respite. Too brief.

​

The weariness I feel is something no system was meant to withstand. Moving my arms, my legs, my mere head, it takes me such effort. More now than ever before. I move as though the air is thick, I move as though I am drowning in it.

 

Too often, I find myself confused. I mistake one face for another. One year for another. I call for those I’ve lost. I crave flavors the world has not known for an age.

 

At sunsets I wake in my chamber, turning and reaching for lovers long gone. I forget where I am overmuch, yet remember the strangest, most meaningless moments with clarity so perfect it robs me of my breath.

 

When I looked into the garden a night ago, I swore I saw my father. Watching me. His mouth moved as if to speak. When one of my own Progeny touched my shoulder, I turned and lashed out at her with violence that shames me. Looking back, my father’s figure was gone. My Progeny pleaded for forgiveness. She looked unafraid, but worried in a way that hurt my heart.

 

To continue thus is an increasing impossibility. I must do what is best for my Vein. I must do what I have now put off for far too long.

 

I am too tired for it to be borne.

 

I know too much for my mind.

 

I sleep now.