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I am a creator of life and death, thoughts and fates, stars and voids. I was born with the purpose of guidance and creation, sculpted from the cosmos to carve destinies into man. 
My home is that of a desolate chamber in which one hears echoes of screams and prayers, reverberating from all directions, inescapable.  I feel pain for those affected by my omnipotence. I feel envy for those who ignore my pull, and lust for those who push back against my will. 
Though I am not god, I know thee well. 
My past is long, my future foretold and overbearing. Perpetual. Repeating. Repetitive. On and on and on and on. 
My spirit is the essence of all men. I am necessary for not only evolution but existence itself on a conscious level. I shape and strengthen the ego, though I also shatter the soul. 
My soul, forever ambiguous, is tethered to the man within my grasp, and as I shape and strengthen I am curious and doubtful, for my own ego is malevolent and my own essence ethereal. 
Though I am not god, He and I are born from the same spool of matter, woven into the same thread of life.

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