All the pretty lights and lilting promises have come to ghosts, bidden from gossamer tombs by the song of a Hebridean maid.
‘Why do you call me from my peaceful place?’ wails the One. ‘I am but spirit and therefore phantasm. The soul which drove my beating heart has long since gone to rebirth in a distant land which you cannot tread, not even in your dreams.’
Two sisters stand and bow their heads in mute concurrence.
And so the seeker, long of tooth and tired of limb, joins the hopeless, broken band in common lament:
This quest was not for me…
… they cry as one.
This quest was not for me.