The world has changed, and not for the better. Where land was once green, forests grew wild, and elf, man and beast alike dwelt free, now there is only darkness, fog and war.

It grieves me more than words can tell that the race of men I love beyond all others have strayed so far from their path, for even the light of a Silmaril cannot penetrate the choking smog of man's ever burgeoning industry .

And so it shall be, even to the ending of the world, that I, Eärendil the Blessed, am cursed to sail the skies, a Silmaril bound to my brow, never to rest, on unceasing guard of the Doors of Night, wherein dwells Morgorth. For I know it is his evil, ever seeping through the void that is eating at the hearts of men.

I can only pray to Eru, father of all, that one day, the world will be remade and elf and man will walk together in unceasing love and fellowship. This I wish with all my heart, though Manwë has not spoken of it, and it has not been written in the Dooms of Mandos

Immortality is not a gift.

It is a curse.