Withering Days

by Magus

I sigh wearily, rubbing my forehead in frustration. Gazing out the window, the sun is barely visible. The soft clang of bells indicates the hour and slowly I put down my quill. The high stacks of books before me make me wonder why I even try.

Painstakingly, I rise and walk to the small view of the world outside. I can see a lot, yes, but this is usually as close as I get to it. A few creatures amble by below, the day is beginning. I consider sleeping, but it would be in vain. Lethargically, I stack my previous night's work and make an effort to be more cleanly.

Hopefully, this day will have cooler weather than the one before it. It becomes very uncomfortable when there is little open space and you have fur, believe me. I'm sure that Foxeris can feel equally, but few of the others surround themselves with books and idle tasks.

If I'm lucky, I'll be able to find some time to relax and talk with Pascal. Running a hand through my headfur, I sigh again. So close to completing my work, so close to finishing. I can't seem to let myself stop. The slightest break could set me back weeks. Maybe I'm just paranoid. So many instances of being too late must have rattled my mind. Maybe I'm just getting old.

This is an idea I seem to muse with more often as of recent. Gray fur becomes increasingly noticeable among the other shades, I'm not as fit as I used to be either. I smile to myself, remembering some of the better days. I used to actually leave my tower often back then. For some reason as of now, I simply cannot find a suitable reason to do such.

And what of the talk of newcomers? It seems news takes it's own dear time to reach my ears. Nearly ironic, considering how intent I used to be on knowing as much as I could about the keep's affairs. Maybe I'm just wearing out. I should get an assistant, but I might actually succeed in frustrating them. Something about this aspect puzzles me, but also amuses me. I'm sure that some of the younger inhabitants of the keep must have some rumors about myself. Maybe I don't get out enough.

Carefully, I snuff the candles around the room and try to reshelf now un-used books. I have faint sensations of hunger, but this is not uncommon. Scratching behind my ears, I smirk at not only the short relief from an itch, but a sullen soothing sensation. Life certainly has changed from all these years. I can hardly remember not being like this. I can hardly remember what I even looked like back then. Maybe I'm losing my memory.

There is a dusty chessboard to one corner, forgotten from my time. I rub my chin thoughtfully, perhaps I can convince someone to come up and play chess? No, no. I don't have time for that. Besides, most anyone could beat me at most anything. I look at the curtains of the upper windows and make a few gestures to open them. Nothing. I sigh, straining to remember. Maybe I'm losing my touch.

Straining my back for a few moments, I am rewarded with the satisfying popping sound of vertebrae. I perk my ears and look quickly around the room, somehow hoping to find something amiss just so I can have the task of fixing it. Is it actually possible for me to find boredom? With so much to do, how can I ever not be busy? Frightening, that is one thing for certain. Maybe I need a vacation.

Sometimes I long for company, but not often. It usually isn't an issue on my mind. Perhaps it is fate that, even though the keep seems to continue shifting positions, always seems to locate my tower so remotely? I think it may be some sort of personal irony. I cannot remember if this was my doing. I must have done it a long time ago to keep my progress undisturbed.

It is a consideration to try and meet everyone new and catch up on the occupants, but it is also a futile effort. With all of the changes, it's impossible to tell just who is a child, who is a newcomer, more or less to tell who is who. I remove my glasses, rubbing the lenses with a small cloth, then replace them on my muzzle. Maybe I need new glasses.

Looking behind myself, my tail is certainly awry. I sigh slightly, a half grin across my muzzle. I rarely see any point to groom anymore. After all, who would even want to bother socializing with me? There wouldn't be a single vixen in the establishment who would want something this old. Knowing myself, I probly wouldn't make a very good impression to begin with. Maybe I need some new clothing.

I often wonder what things would have been like if noone changed. At first, it seemed like such a bad thing. But now, now is different. I almost think of it as a boon. At least I don't need to shave. I roll up several scrolls, tying then into a bundle then placing them on a shelf. Looking up, the spiral of uncoordinated shelves and grooves and niches of the walls are almost enough to give me vertigo. Who designed this tower anyways?.... oh, I did. Maybe I'm going insane.

Gazing at a small bed in one corner, I realize it's the most tidy thing in the chamber. A very sad thought indeed. Have I really missed that much sleep? How much of this can I take? I sigh. Maybe I can get pascal to mix something up for me? I doubt it would do much good. Maybe I just need to sleep the old fashioned way. It shouldn't be too hard, afterall.

Removing several un-necessary articles of my persona, I close the lower curtains. I am now glad I hadn't opened the higher ones. Pulling back the covers to the bed, I carefully slid in and immediately relax. For once in a long while, I feel some relief. Closing my eyes, I turn onto my side and start to doze off. Maybe this is what I needed afterall.

Then someone knocks on the door.

"Magus, you're needed in the council room."

I sigh. I suppose someone like myself isn't intended to rest. Maybe I don't need to sleep. Maybe I really am insane. Perhaps one is the result of the other?