The pool was a brilliant shade of blue, a dazzling contrast to the rocky hill of Red Jasper that housed it. Many alive on Samsarras believe that the demon realm of the Sribinet can not house such beauty, but they are wrong. There are sites of natural wonder in that damned place that would leave them in tears. While many of its denizens are monstrous in appearance, there are others who match that grotesqueness with their inhuman beauty. Those among the living that have seen them are hard pressed to say which they fear more.
A log popped and hissed loudly, sending sparks drifting into the stone room. Grahlius drew her child a little closer into her breast, sighing heavily. The little girl reached up, her small fingers twirling around her the wispy hairs protruding from her mother’s chin, just like her wife had used to do. She stroked her child’s hair tenderly, feeling the lack of ease this night always brought with it.
With the needle and thread, Braxult strengthened her creation. It created great depressions in the ground where it crashed into this new world. She opened the vial of tears to fill them, creating Oceans and rivers.
Braxult hung the spark in the heavens and watched as light and heat bathed her creation. Next she hung the gem and gold piece so that they might reflect the light of this new sun into the dark places of the world. The light would keeping the Sribinet from entirely consuming it, keeping it forever hers until even the sun and the moons died.
Braxult recognized the chain. Creator abused created. She reasoned that it was her duty to create and abuse as well. The demon of death needed life to fulfill this need. Only the living would fear dying, which would perhaps be their biggest torment. She stole some of the darkness and molded it with her bare hands. Soon, she had a mass of land floating in a sea of dark, though it barely stayed together. There was no life to be found on it. Braxult realized that, while death can give meaning to life, it can not create it.
She wandered the darklands alone, not knowing what to do. She came upon Yarllath, hammering upon a great anvil. The sparks shot off into the darkness, casting little patches of light.