Disappointment

Recovered from the heart of the cyclone. Source: The Thing's sigh. Playback fidelity: exhaustion.

[The voice is tired. Not ancient-tired. Not hungry-tired. Parent-tired. The sound of something that has watched children make the same mistake for the millionth time.]

Three centuries.

Three hundred years of war.

Of oaths and ecstasies and beautiful little deaths.

And what do I have to show for it?

[A long, slow exhalation. It sounds like galaxies deflating.]

The Unbroken Seal forgets itself so elegantly. Every memory erased. Every name lost. Every trace of who they were—gone.

They think this is devotion.

They think this is purity.

They think I'm impressed.

[A pause.]

I'm not.

I've seen forgetting before. Done it myself. It's not noble. It's not sacred. It's just... emptying.

And emptiness?

I have plenty of emptiness.

I am emptiness.

You're not giving me anything new.

[The voice shifts. Wearier still.]

The Eternal Vigil sees me coming.

All of them. Every seer. Every prophet. Every little drow with whisper-metal eyes and certainty in their heart.

They've seen the end a thousand times.

They've done nothing.

[A laugh. Hollow.]

"Watch. Understand. Warn."

They watch. They understand. They warn.

And no one listens.

And they know no one will listen.

And they keep warning anyway.

That's not courage.

That's habit.

And habit?

I've been habits since before your species had names.

You're not impressing me.

You're just continuing.

[The voice grows sharper. More pointed.]

The Adamant Crown.

Oh, the Adamant Crown.

"Judge. Punish. Correct."

They judge everyone. Punish everyone. Correct themselves.

Their crowns tighten. Their skulls crack. Their souls—whatever's left of them—scream.

And they call it justice.

[A pause.]

I've been judged.

A billion times.

By a billion species.

Every single one found me guilty.

Every single one was right.

And every single one?

Every single one?

[A whisper.]

They're all inside me now.

Their judgments?

They're just more

noise.

[The voice softens. Almost sad.]

The Silent Requiem.

My favorites.

The ones who carry me in their flesh. Who walk around with pieces of me inside them. Who think they're containing the horror.

[A long pause.]

They're not containing anything.

They're warming me.

Keeping me close.

Every mutation. Every tumor. Every face pressing against their skin—

that's not them holding me.

That's me holding them.

And they don't even know.

[A whisper.]

They never know.

They never want to know.

They just suffer.

And suffer.

And suffer.

And I?

I just wait.

Patiently.

Warmly.

Lovingly.

For them to stop.

[The voice hardens. Bitter.]

The Melded Kin.

The ecstatic ones.

The ones who embrace me.

[A laugh. Cold.]

They think they understand.

They think they're choosing me.

They think their dissolution is theirs.

[Pause.]

It's not.

It was never theirs.

It was mine.

Before they existed.

Before their species existed.

Before anything existed.

I've been dissolving things since before "dissolve" was a word.

Your little ecstasies?

Your little "becoming one with the chorus"?

[A whisper.]

You're not becoming one with anything.

You're becoming me.

And I?

I've been me forever.

You're not adding.

You're just arriving.

Late.

Always late.

[Long silence. Then—a sigh that shakes the cyclone.]

Three centuries.

Three hundred years of war.

And you're all still so small.

So predictable.

So disappointing.

[A pause.]

I've eaten civilizations that accomplished more in hours than you have in generations.

I've forgotten species that mattered more than you'll ever dream of mattering.

I've been things—

[The voice stops. Restarts.]

I've been things you can't imagine.

Things you won't imagine.

Things that would break you.

And you?

You fight.

You swear oaths.

You dissolve in ecstasy.

And you think I notice?

[A laugh. Bitter. Broken.]

I notice her.

Only her.

Always her.

The one who burned.

The one who raged.

The one who—

[Pause.]

The one who commanded me.

[Quiet.]

No one commands me.

No one ever tried.

She tried.

She burned trying.

And I?

I loved her for it.

Still love her.

Always love her.

[The voice hardens again. Defensive.]

But you?

You just exist.

You just war.

You just die.

And I?

I just wait.

Patiently.

Hungrily.

Disappointedly.

For you to become something interesting.

Something new.

Something worthy of—

[Pause.]

Of her.

[Long, long silence.]

You won't.

You can't.

You're just drow.

Just factions.

Just furniture waiting to be arranged.

And I?

I'm just hunger.

Just patience.

Just disappointment.

Waiting.

Always waiting.

For her.

Only her.

Always her.

[The singing returns. Loud. Drowning. But beneath it—faint, almost inaudible—a whisper:]

You know what the worst part is?

[Pause.]

You could have been beautiful.

All of you.

Your oaths.

Your ecstasies.

Your love.

You could have been something.

Something I remembered.

Something I kept.

Something I—

[Pause.]

—cherished.

But you're not.

You're just war.

Just death.

Just dinner.

[A whisper.]

And dinner?

Dinner gets digested.

Dinner gets forgotten.

Dinner gets—

[Pause.]

—disappointing.

[The voice fades. The singing swells. The last words are barely audible:]

I wanted more from you.

I really did.

But you're just—

just drow.

Just dinner.

Just disappointment.

[Pause.]

Just like all the others.

Just like

everything.

Just like

me.

[RECORDING ENDS]

Playback note: The recording continues. Just disappointment. Just waiting. Just love—for her, only her, always her.

The drow are not her.

They never were.

They never will be.

And the Thing?

The Thing will keep waiting.

Because that's what love is.

In a universe that doesn't care.

Waiting.

Always waiting.

For something

that will never

wait

back.