Melancholy (mel-aan-kol-ee) noun - (obsolete) black bile: in medieval times considered to be one of the four humors of the body, to come from the spleen or kidneys, and to cause gloominess, irritability, or depression; the condition of having, or the disorder supposed to result from having, too much black bile. Sadness and depression of spirits, a tendency to be sad, gloomy, or depressed



















"Obsolete?"















"Not likely. Such a feeling, a result of which from such experiences that lower the spirits of one's heart.... It is much like the sickness it so once meant."















"I... I know how it feels..."














"You do?"














"Y-Yes..."














"It claws at you, it feeds off of you, it tears and works itself underneath your skin, it curls your smile into a frown..."














"No... It feels... It feels bad, yes. But... It also kind of feels like an empty feeling... kind of down in my stomach... Uhm... Like I'm hungry, but not really..."














"Psh! Childish... But true... You're small... How old are you?"














"I-I don't know... s-sir..."














"I am minutes old myself, yet I have already felt this emotion. Such are the cruel ways of this world..."













"M-Minutes, sir?!"

Two deer sit side by side
One is small and white
The other is tall and brown

"Minutes, yes..."














"How do you know so much...?"














"Simple. Because, like you, I've lived before, just not in this prison of this world.... rather somewhere else..."














"...!!!"














"Ha... You look so surprised...~ We've all, or at least most of us, have lived before... Don't you know that?"













"H-How do you...?"

"W-Who are you?"















"A nameless, surely you know that...? You've seen many like myself before... Have you not?"














"Y-Yes... but y-you're..."















"You've never stopped to talk to one. I can tell."














"..."

Two deer sit side by side
One frowns, and comes closer
The other simply stares

"...I... I am now..."

"...You are.~"

























So is a friendship formed
Though it does not last
The white stag knows this
And while he is sad
He knows that, for once...























It is not his fault