'Back before everything and nothing, there was a spark. From this spark, life was born first. Lush life. Filled with warmth and wonder. It filled every corner of the galaxy. Then the spark created a younger sibling for life, death. Its foil to keep it in line, so as not to overgrow the world the spark had made. Stillness and peace, death claimed. For eons, life and death have ruled together and have fought against one another. Over and over and over. Never ceasing and always losing. They create and destroy. Cities and deities are raised in their names. Every facet of expression or experiment is dedicated to either or both of them. Everything bowed to each of them, no matter what.'
A grimy finger flits the page over, uninterested in the genesis of these so-called Gods. It filtered through the muck before landing on the real prize: the monsters. Angels. Those that don't fit the little fairy tale the old gods created. For angels were perfection. Created by the perfect and only true God. A sneer twisted its features when the book flops over to land on the image of some twisted, wretched thing. Ripping the page leaves nothing but a streak of blood and filth marring the rest of the holy script.
On the opposite side of the realm, a woman pulls into the driveway of an old home. The shadowy forest slinks up the cobbled path and climbs the peeling paneling. A crow settles on the railing of the porch, cawing out to her. Her eyebrows pinch together as she begins flipping through the stack of mail in her hands. She throws a small puzzle box in the air, catching it, before walking up the cracked concrete steps.
Once inside, she begins rummaging through her belongings. Nothing uncommon in a witch's household. Drawing out the necessary tools, she begins her ritual. A few flares of fire here and a couple drops of blood there and the thunder starts rolling outside. A clear indication of her will given form. The tattoo on her chest glows and warms her skin. Smoke begins to fill the room, dark as a starlit night in autumn. An eerie silence forms in the house. A stillness, like holding your breath. Then, the smoke rushes past her, whipping her hair around her face.
Her eyes squint, trying to get a good look at the entity she's summoned to no avail. Like always, she's been kept in the dark. Eventually, the smoke becomes a shape, and she sees the creature she meant to summon leaning rather roguishly against her door frame.
"Honey, I'm home."