That's how long it took for everyone that I knew and loved to die.
I watched as my loved ones withered away into nothing and the world moved on without paying any mind to my grief and confusion and hopeless, helpless, rage. A long time passed before I finally came to terms with my new reality. Being the Master of Death grants one with enough time to actually achieve such a thing. That... and a good dose of insanity followed by slight apathy, not to mention a pinch of overwhelming terror at the thought of being alonealonealone forever...
I need therapy.
I snort. Understatement of the millennia!
But in all honesty, there are only three possible paths I can see for my unending future. The first outcome is that I stay relatively sane and go about loving and losing until I snap. The second option is that I'll shut down and become some apathetic zombie, cursed to wander forever without rest or warmth. The last possibility is that, no matter what, I will go a little mad... or a lot depending on circumstances, time of day, etc, etc.
Currently, I am doing my best to blend futures one and two while trying to keep at bay number three for as long as possible.
Thus my desire for therapy. Yay.
So now I remain here, in a world that has forgotten me and all those I cherished.
And I fear what will become of me should I truly lose what little compassion and hope I have left.