DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Eva series or any of the characters in this fic, so don't sue me.

Hello there, new fic started. Note to self: finish other stories before getting really, really good fic ideas. ^_^;; Oh well. I've been meaning to start this one anyways. ^_^ Since the prolog is pretty short, I'm going to try and finish two chapters today, so...yeah. Well, enjoy!

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"I see the world. Feel the chill.

Which way to go? Windowsill.

I see the words on a rocking horse of time.

I see the verse in the rain."

~Pearl Jam, "Release"

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I see it all now, laid before me. The possibilities of what could be, the chaos of a world without shape. Like clay on an artist's block, a formless blob.

I will be the one to take this and give it shape. Like the artist, I must take this nothing to create my own little image.

Playing God.

Molding, bending. Shaping.

I take a hold of this world and its people, and begin my work. The possibilities surround me, haunt me, posses me. I cannot escape, and I do not want to escape.

The clay is always cool and firm when you begin, but soon your warmth will become its warmth, and it will yield to you.

Aimless chatter, from everywhere and nowhere clutters my mind. I can still hear their voices, whispering to me, talking to me, reassuring me.

Suggesting their own separate views and adding them to mine.

The artist's vision is always tainted with the opinions of others. They will always be there, contaminating it, making your ideas theirs and theirs yours. Thus, the artist is one with those around him. Thus, the artist has a unique product based off of their views and the views of others.

A mere undertone to a true artist.

Here we are. The moment we've been waiting for.

It is complete.