Anything was possible in a stormy night. Or so they say. The gods gamble and when they roll the yellow dice, the thunder appears. Could this be called a blessing or a curse? If one loses, the earth faces the consequences. Sometimes, the god of death would lose. He would be so mad that he would take the lives of elder people, because they lived enough, in his opinion. Sometimes, the god of war would lose and he would make humans fight with each other.
But some nights were different. The goddess of wisdom lost once. She wasn't angry, so she decided to give our broken race a present. Asked for the goddess of love, of beauty, asked for the sun, asked for the god that is too kind, asked for the flowers. Asked for their help. And all the work became a child so clever, wise, yet careless. It is said that he lived among us. He could heal the sick, make two beings that hate everything, love everything, and the most important thing, he was the happiest person in the world. So pure, so kind, so gentle, so selfless, so truthful. His hair white like snow, his eyes just crimson. He had a faithful servant curled around him, a snake, said to be a child of the two that held the herb of life. He wanted to make the world a better place. He loved the nature, loved people and loved their creations. He didn't understand why would they waste their life hating, terminating the lives of others, when they could be happy without that. He was cheerful, but so emotional. His voice was always painted with compassion. He was a flower.
And one night, the gods gathered to gamble again. The god of beauty and art lost and he felt offended, for he was full of himself. So, along with the goddess of chaos and the night, he created his own present for humanity. Another child. Yet this one was too proud, his beauty was breathtaking, his voice like velvet, his body strong, his heart shattered. He came into this world already broken. He acted all the time, mocking the truth, fighting his fate and other's, wandering so lonely, never showing something real. His hair dark like the night, his eyes grey, like the storm he was born into. They held no mercy. His smile was always a smirk. He learned to hate and to punish. He danced into the heart of art, but despised the world. It meant nothing to him. They could all die, for all he cared. He sneaked with ease, he stole and he was gone. He didn't care. He didn't feel. He couldn't understand the people who wasted their life loving, when they knew it would end with a tragedy. He was a rat.
This time it was a hurricane. Blood could be felt, the cold was biting flesh and the stars were hiding. There sat the darkness, curled up, losing hope, yet moving. And just near sat the light, screaming its feelings, with the window opened. And then, love met hate.