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Lark had been strangling his nephew to death. It was a pity, how he could change into this monster over the years. He was killing the thing he had raised since little. He was exanimating his nephew of his life. He was, of course, soon to then take his own.
Life was but a monotonous thing. Dobby's body started to become lifeless. He would have fought back; but it was this folly yearning of his for death that had forced him to oppose initial reasoning. Had he truly become a monster himself? Elves lived longer than humans; but never before were they immortals. Was he deprived of his ability to die? There was, unfortunately, merely a single way to seek truth.
But then Dobby had remembered something. Something that had drived him through this monotonous life of his. He believed value, his life had not. But then this memory had caused him to betray this stupid belief right then.
