I sing with my tears rolling freely down my face. I sing to the ghosts of what were, to the ashes of my hope. The sun rises one last time. The ships have all gone, but I remain. The heat is too strong. The light is too much. I know, in a moment, I’ll die. Sill, I belt the final, rising strain, greeting the morning with my final aria.
Thus the dying sun scorched the little world, first burning it to an ember and then, retreating into its own darkness, leaving the dead planet to a cold, listless darkness forevermore.
Tale Told 