Deadline
Deadlines.
The tip of Erestor's quill pen flew across the page, but it was not fast enough.
Deadlines.
So many deadlines.
Deadlines were his life.
Everything he did had a deadline, and he would never, never miss a deadline.
He could hardly have a good time anymore, with all the deadlines pressing down on him from the back of his mind like guilt. Why did everything have to have a deadline?
Glancing up at the clock he began writing even faster, growing panicked. Suddenly he knocked over his inkwell with his haste, and before he could catch it the important papers covering his desk were soaked.
Sighing, he lay his over-worked head down on his desk in defeat without thinking about the spreading ink-puddle below.
Maybe he could just miss one deadline, just this once?
As he felt the cold liquid seep onto his scalp, he wondered how he would ever get all this ink out of his hair. Maybe nobody would notice, he did have black hair after all.
Glorfindel would definitely notice.
Erestor sighed in frustration, walking over to the open window and proceeding to wring his hair out into the window-box below, dying the once light-blue and yellow flowers below black and grey.
All these deadlines would be the death of him!