In the cradle of the ninth dawn, before stars and universes knew their names, two perfect halves emerged from the same quiet flame.
One was a mirror of light, the other a mirror of night, spun from the same thread yet always drifting apart.
They wandered the void as lovers, hands joined in flawless grace, crafting worlds from whispers and breaking them in embrace.
Slaughter was their song, creation their shared breath.
One bathed in open light, the other cloaked in hidden death.
One loved with open eyes, each vow a burning star, living in the naked day, wearing truth like a scar.
The other loved in shadows, each promise sweetly veiled, dwelling in the art of night where every oath was weighed.
Together they shaped empires from the bones of fallen skies, together they drank deep from rivers of soft lies.
But the paths that began entwined, like roots beneath one tree, were never meant to be.
