I loathe to be reborn, to be thrust back into the world as a weak, mewling, incompetent babe. That it is told that we will forget all we know, even for a little while, is wholly unappealing to me. I would rather my spirit remain intact and pure than have the slate wiped clean.
Maybe my concern is that they would rewrite my own mind while I have no control over it. I would not put it past them. My longing for the physical world grows strong, but always I remind myself that a hundred years is a long time.
What if they decide it should be longer? Can I trust them? No. And so here I continue to dwell, spirited, formless, but always, Feanor.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Feanor