At the end of the world there is said to be a tree. Its branches spread toward the cracked open sky, and its roots pierce the earth, taking sustenance from the living rock. As the world ages and wars and strife wracks the land, the tree grows rotten. The Empire crumbles, as do all civilized nations, slowly, but surely. As the bastions of hope sink slowly into the mire, so the tree withers and dies. All things end: books, songs, loves, lives; all we can do is treasure what we have, until the transience of life catches up upon us all...  |
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