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Prologue: an understanding
Of the sea and elves.
The two are not so different; so perpetual and shifting, winks of sun-flung spangles thrown and desiccated as they fall—from rays, broad and benign to sharper splinters, un- held as they are too defiant for the touch of any. The sun upon the sea; that disappears with the great calamity of wave upon sand—and the water, shall never resume the old form again, never look back upon the same ripples of moments before.
And so the currents adjust to suit the wind, rocks of cliffs—these cliffs, seen as abrupt, mighty, even cruel: but at the advent of a new age; most undoubtedly the closure of yesterday—the cliffs fade and succumb to the greatest cruelty of all.
Whilst the sea is the same as ever, though changed thousand fold, again and again, only to encroach on the same design, of waves with the mellifluous scatter of singsong—cruel sun, still burning, still blazing in such fury that defies myth and science alike.
Such is the way of the sea, not unlike the elves.
You do not understand you say—such is the way of men I suppose, too ephemeral to truly live and understand that most mighty cruelty; the ravaging of the oceans until all that is left is the desert, followed by the rape of the sands, until all that is left is the void.
And what is left standing by that void but the undying, standing, standing by its side to rule it: no one. Not one soul: not even the elves.