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I sat alone long ago, where the waves crashed against the rocks. The old gods where with me then, and their eyes bore down heavily upon all that I did. I was alone in that place where all times are one, and I needed no other, for I was all things in that place, and all possibilities where within. I was alone with all, save for the rocks, and the waves, and the old gods, who gazed and spoke not. And I told myself it was good.

And the winds came, and I waited and spoke not, for there where no words to speak. And as I sat I forgot who I had been. I forgot that there ever where such places as Eridae, and the dessert of burning sands, and the isle of the sphinxes. I forgot that there ever was such a one as myself. And the shadows grew. And time passed not, for there is no place from whence it comes, nor to which it goes, save there. And if there where trees, or fields, or cities, or people, or spirits, I knew it not. And the old gods departed. And still I thought it was good.

And from time to time, I would make to depart. Into another half dreaming life, into another place of misty recollections. I lived ten thousand lives in a single moment, and none of them made any impression upon me. And one day I left that place for good. But the stars where not the same stars as when I had first come, and the old gods were no longer with me.