A faded memory.
Saint Skallagrim the Enlightened was lonely at the top. He had arranged for a cleaning lady to come once a week to polish the floors but she always had a freestyle and even so, she didn't speak a word of swedish.
Other than sitting and staring out at the sorrow He enjoyed embroidery and that is how he spent most of his days towards the end. It is said he was inconsolable, that he embroidered a several metre long tablecloth with only black thread. Of course noone can confirm this since he since long lost the one friend he had and the cleaning lady had since long stopped cleaning.
I am who I have been, who I was meant to be, Skallagrim hissed. This is how it was meant to end. I did not choose my destiny, Destiny hose me. We are good friends, oh yes. He laughs manically and sows, sows until there is no yarn left. Every stitch carefully thought out and placed. Even though nothing no longer mattered.
So falls the memory of a great man into the oblivion of forgetfulness without ever having been acknowledged.