A drabble written to the first prompt given our team in the Back-to-Middle-Earth Month challenges. For Iorhael for her birthday. With thanks to RiverOtter for the beta.
Today I’m thirty-three, and an adult according to society. I can vote in the elections for Mayor. I can handle my own money, and own property; I can make legal agreements and marry without having to seek permission. I can found a family and father children and love a wife. I can be a landlord. I can head my family of name and keep its book.
I’m thirty-three, and have come into my inheritance, as Bilbo has just proclaimed----
----just before he disappeared with a flash and a bang!
Why do I find myself wishing I were still thirty-two?