Praboh was good and His land most beautiful, for ‘twas an emptiness that couldst accommodate all things. His was the power to create, and what once became filled with His divine breath couldst exist and adorn the Skies. Howe’er, naught of all creation brought Him joy, as He couldst predict all things. Empty was the creation, being as weightless and bright as Praboh Himself.

And Praboh did drift in the Skies with naught but longing for the unknown! His desire was to but see the end of His land, alas, His thought extended with no end, overwhelming Him with the infinite space.

Ne’er couldst He encounter anyone within the entirety of infinity, and scared by His loneliness, the silence, and the predictability of the Skies, He began to weep.

Torrential tears cascaded from those eyes most divine and poured they like waterfalls. When thousands of divine breaths swung the emptiness, the ocean shone upon Praboh’s eyes.