It is dark here. There is no light in the deep places of Alagaesia. No sun on my face, nor wind blowing my hair, nor rain drenching my bones and making them heavy with their wetness. No grass under my feet, and no living being to meditate upon. I am alone here, in this dark place.
I feel little. Sometimes, I think people speak to me, and I attempt to listen. My efforts always fall short, and I must rely on my dragon to guide me, for I do not hear or process speech anymore. Sometimes, I think I hear a bird sing, but then the omnipresent darkness consumes the sound and muffles it, till I hear no more. Sometimes, I think I see a light, a small part of my spirit regains its inherent hope, but then I see you and it is lost; the darkness takes it.
Don't you see? I have fallen. At the Blood-oath Celebration, I gained grace of body but not of tongue, and control of muscles but not of speech. I am an elf in image, but not in soul. I am a Man, and Men are weak, subservient to their emotions. I could not let it rest. There was no option for me. No choice. It had to be done. I had fallen.
But you did not feel the same. The part of me that retained a foolish hope in the face of all my previous adversities died at the moment of your rejection.
I have fallen. My heart aches from landing here, in this dark unknown place at the bottom of the world. This place where I have neither sun nor hope, neither rain nor feeling. I am numb. My heart is barricaded in my ribs, cut off from the world to protect itself from any new pain. The walls keep it together, for it seems it is broken beyond repair.