"What comes after?"
"I mean, after these hundred years, then another hundred, a thousand?" Bologue explained. "Don't you understand yet? Palmer, whether it's a hundred years, a thousand years, ten thousand years, in the almost eternal life of the undead, they're merely fleeting moments."
Palmer pondered.
Bologue spoke sadly, "Whether you immerse yourself in art, science, contemplation, or anything else, they cannot consume your long life. In the end, you will still slowly fade, becoming a pale shadow."
"Sounds like being undead is really awful..."
"Yes, terribly awful. In the end, the only thing you can trust is your unyielding will," Bologue murmured. "But sometimes, even I wonder — can my will really endure such prolonged time without corruption?"
The two stared at each other until Bologue's gaze made Palmer slightly uneasy. It was then he suddenly remembered that Bologue too was an undead.
Palmer murmured, "Is this the future you foresee?"
