A mote of dust in the cosmos. Spinning on an unknown course that events and other people can alter, but you yourself cannot. Every events sends you spinning off in a new direction, or only an alteration of the path you were on. All the spinning makes you dizzy, and you feel lost.
Light and Dark are constant companions. The light cast from suns burns your body and turns it to ash. The shadows of planets freeze you, and you collect ice. Nothing protects you from these extremes that turn you to ash and ice, and give you shape.
As time passes you grow accustom to your changing form. Life as you know it can get no worse or better than it is now. You feel a force pull you. It is slight at first then grows stronger as you approach the source. Panic starts to rise as others are pulled to this force also. They bump you as they speed towards it, some faster than other, but none of this bumping will change your course away from this pull.
A black hole.
Just as you reach the point of no return thoughts go through your mind. No one is able to resist this void that pulls you in. You are powerless to resist its pull, even when it means death. No one ever returns after being pulled in. It is a crushing destructive force of gravity.
Part of you accepts this fate of death; but another part of you screams in defiance against it. You crave to hold onto life.
Then the chaos and pain set in as you are pulled into the center of the black hole. The void swallows you.
Feeling slowly returns. A dull ache all over your body. You feel like you've been beaten and broken, which may be true. You can see nothing because of the darkness around you. It is thick and you can almost touch it, like a tangible object. Fear rises as your mind creates horrors that lurk around you in the black. You curl up to make yourself small and insignificant, so the horrors will pass over you.
Light slowly seeps through your closed eyelids. You open your eyes to the warm brilliance. Stretching out you try to absorb as much of the warmth into your body as you can. The light is blinding at first, but you slowly adjust.
Behind the light is a beautiful green land of gently rolling hills and wildflowers. Butterflies dance from flower to flower, and a soothing breeze causes the tall grass to ripple. And there off to one side is a being clothed in white.
The being, an Angel, is a beautiful personage. Clothed in a pure white tunic with gold broaches on either shoulder, a pair of great white wings extend from the Angel's back. Golden hair is perfect, and wreathes the either gender face in a golden halo. The face is calm and loving, without the wrinkles of time to mar its beauty.
The scene starts to slip away from you. Looking around you see it like trying to see through a window. It's boxed in, and the beautiful landscape is behind a piece of glass.
The glass is turning now. Things become obscured as your perspective of things change. The glass turns on end now. It's only a few inches thick and you can see behind it. Then it turns back to reveal the Angel and the soothing landscape.
But there was something behind the glass. A mystery now because the glass is in your way.
The Angel within the window extends a hand towards you. The scene is inviting and peaceful. You in return extend a hand, but hesitate slightly. You have never seen such perfection except in traps to snare the unwary. You want very badly to go to the serene place you've dreamed about, but mistrust it. It is like fire. Will it help or harm?
The Angel is still holding out its hand to you. It is waiting for you to come. The glass is turning again and becomes a thin strip of green revealing again what lies behind.
The being behind repels you. Yet you are strAngely drawn to it. The Daemon, for it could be nothing else, is blacker then the darkness you have spent all your life in. The Daemon has none of the Angel's softness and perfection. Scarred by battles with the unknown, its brawny form seem masculine. Its hair is loosely pulled back and is almost as black as its skin. Its face is set with lines of emotion and the passing of time. Large dark scaly wings are spread, and is eyes are the color of red giants and without pupils. Its hand is extended to you in the same manner the Angel's was.
You extend your hand to the Daemon, and again hesitate. It seems to understand what kind of a life you've gone through. Time is hard on all people, but still the Daemon isn't want you've always longed for.
The glass turn to reveal perfection. The answer between the two seems obvious, but is it?
The glass is shrinking, focusing on the Angel. It's wingtips are cut off and where the white feathers end, black scaly wings show.
The glass is spinning, slowly at first then picking up speed. It becomes thin as paper and the contrasting figures are blurring. The Angel's wings are scaly feathers and gray in color. The robes are also gray. The Daemon's face appears less time worn, and a pale halo of golden hair surrounds its face. The figure stands in a pale green field with butterflies flying around in a jerky manner.
Despair wells up within you. What's happening? Which to choose? What's real?
The glass shatters, exploding with a force that knocks you over. Its like thunder without sound.
Glass is everywhere. It twinkles like stars with inner light. All the multi sized pieces have a portion of the field within.
Portions of the glass sweep in front of the Daemon. Over the wings, part of the face, across the hand. In the glass is a portion of the Angel which ends where the glass does. White feathers over black wings; timeless face with the worn one; and the ever beseeching hand.
The glass spirals out and races for you. Sharp edges cut you face and body. The Daemon is quick to react. It takes you in an embrace and hold you with its strong arms, and shelters you by wrapping its wing around you.
The unforgiving glass cuts its wing membranes. Through a hole in the membrane you can see the glass and its promise, or illusion, or perfection and peace. You feel you blood ooze from multiple cuts. How can something so beautiful hurt?
The glass spins and melts back together seamlessly. Inside the blacker than night wings is darkness. Outside you see the reflection of bleeding white feathers encircling you in a protective hold.
You turn to look into the face of the being that protected you from the sharp glass.
"What is real?" You ask. "What is illusion and what is not?"
The face is neutral of all emotions as the being looks down at you. In its red eyes is a potion of what it knows. You understand only a small portion of what it does. Then the being closes its eyes, and turns its face away.