He was granted immortality in his twenty-ninth year. Ageless, he drifted through the centuries.
Detached from the rest of humanity, he watched empires rise, blossom, decay into corruption and collapse again, leaving nothing but ruins behind.
He travelled the world many times over. He witnessed the heights of culture and the depths of human suffering. He moved from town to town, sometimes staying in one place for a dozen years or two before disappearing and starting again.
And at the start of every new life, after each new reinvention, he said to himself, “This time, I’ll write that novel.”