Bag om Wanderer
Beyond the wall of computers, all the books rested. Perhaps I belonged to every one of them. Fiction: Immortals aren't real. Romance: I had a lovely wife who I adored. Horror: She died, in my bed, with my best friend. Mythology: I wish all of this was a myth. There she was. Curled up in an overstuffed chair. Like a child, I darted between the rows of books. She would give the occasional smile as she read. We stayed like this for some time-her reading, me watching. This was exciting. A new person. She was beautiful. That was three days ago. I've been reduced to watching her from afar, from this secluded spot across the street from her house. I'm Seth. I was named after Adam and Eve's third child. It's been centuries since I've been with a woman. Immortality can be a nuisance like that. The time, where does it go? I must make her mine. Some would say that I stalk. I don't see it that way at all.
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