It hummed a melancholy tune as it carefully carved the arrowhead from obsidian. To call it a creature was to mislabel it. What it was was a spectral entity veiled in ever-shifting shadows that allowed no light to touch it and what passed for eyes were orbs as deep as ancient abysses. Its long, slender fingers were stained black from the dark stone. With practiced efficiency, it slotted the razor-sharp point into a wooden shaft made of yew, known for its strength and flexibility. After securing it in place with glue rendered from animal bones, the creature fletched the end with feathers plucked from a raven, each one midnight black.

It was no ordinary arrowsmith. It was a being as old as sorrow itself, spawned from the primeval darkness to sow sadness and suffering. Its kind had many names across mythologies – the Kakia of Ancient Greece, the Sawshjar from Zoroastrian lore, the Asag of Mesopotamia. But its purpose never wavered. When the arrow was complete, the creature slung its quiver over its back and crept from its lair. It could sense misery ripening somewhere in the mortal world. Silent as a shadow, it stalked through the night until it found a promising mark – a man returning to his home with a weariness evident in his dragging footsteps. The entity of sorrow raised its bow, relishing the moment before release. This wound would cut deep, and the pain would linger. It drew back the bowstring and let an arrow of sorrow fly.

In the moonlit silence, the arrow sailed through the night, propelled by the creature’s ancient anguish. It found its mark in the weary man, embedding itself into his heart with a whisper of despair. For a fleeting moment, the man shuddered, a chill passing through him as if the night itself mourned his fate.

Unbeknownst to the man, the arrow had woven itself into the fabric of his being, carrying with it the weight of unspoken sorrows and unseen tragedies. From that moment on, his life took a somber turn, as if the universe had conspired to test his spirit.

As the days passed, the man’s laughter grew hollow, drowned by the echo of lost dreams. His relationships withered under the burden of his unexplained melancholy. The world, once vibrant and full of promise, now seemed veiled in perpetual twilight.

In the depths of his despair, he would catch glimpses of the creature’s shadow, a haunting reminder of the sorrow that clung to him. Nights became endless battles with unseen demons, and days were marred by the specter of what could have been.

Haunted by the relentless sorrow inflicted by the arrow, he withdrew from the world, his days consumed by the echoes of his own regrets. The simplest joys became alien, drowned out by the cacophony of his internal pain. Nights, once a sanctuary, transformed into battlegrounds where he fought unseen demons, losing a piece of himself with each struggle.

As the years passed, his once-piercing gaze grew dim, clouded by the ever-present shadow of sorrow. He became a mere shell of the person he once was, his dreams and aspirations reduced to ashes by the relentless arrows of agony. The world moved on, indifferent to his suffering, and he became a forgotten soul, lost in the vast expanse of human misery.

And so, his story ended not with a triumphant resurgence, but with a quiet, tragic resignation. In the silence of his existence, he became a cautionary tale, a reminder of the devastating power of sorrow, and the unforgiving nature of a world that could strip even the strongest spirit of its light. His life, once brimming with potential, faded into obscurity, leaving behind only the chilling echo of what could have been.

And in the hushed stillness of his final moments, the man, his spirit a mere flicker in the encroaching darkness, heard the melancholy song of the entity. The haunting melody of sorrow seeped into his very soul, intertwining with his last breath. The sound of the entity crafting another arrowhead echoed in his ears, a chilling reminder of the endless cycle of anguish. And with that mournful tune as his requiem, he slipped away, leaving behind a world that had never truly understood the depth of his suffering, nor the malevolent artistry of the entity that had sealed his fate.