Oh, my darling sonneteer. Look at you in all your destitution, your incompetence. You're the poem of a vacuous lover, mind plagued with short-lasting whimsies and a fool's fantasies. How did such a leaden fate find its ways into your fumbling, incapable paws? /The stars said so, the stars said so..!/, you can cry in protest - but you know the stars must've selected you with the knowledge that your home has been reduced to a wasteland, devoid of hope. And they know it too. All around you, somewhere, they can see it. The steps of a creature who prances with oblivious cheer, the ringing voice of a pixie who exists only to cement sparkling falsities in their minds. You know what's coming, don't you, sonneteer? Eight balladeers before you grew this forest. Purpose, potential, remembrances lingered in their wake wherever they tread. Their mark was made even after they departed, preserved for generations to come and build upon. You'll watch, so still your heart may as well stop beating, as it all rots beneath your paws. You'll watch the forest decay, wither, take its final straining gasps of air as it blackens and shrivels. ..I could tell you it wasn't your fault when it happens. I could say that you were never meant for this path, that it was a tale a predetermined ending of an unfortunate demise. You'd like that, wouldn't you? The shallow comforts? It wouldn't be true. You're an unworthy creature with no further to fall in your meritless plummet over the many moons. Even in parched soil, even in scorching sunlight, even in the murk of an endless night, a seed still holds a sliver of potential to sprout. Will you? No one else can. The chance was given to you alone, and if you do not grasp it while it's still within reach of your desperately clutching paws, you'll watch your home and all those whose very essence thrives within it corrode. You'll feel it. You won't see it, but it'll sicken you, like a parasite spreading throughout you from the inside. The corrosion of your world, and the corrosion of your soul. Blithe natures such as yours will be overcome by it every time. Do you know that? Your character is a small price to pay in exchange for your Clan's prosperity. ... You have a choice to make, sonneteer. Either you become your predecessors, or they abrade before your very eyes while you sit back and do /nothing./
