A beautifully terrifying song fills the world: hear those passions rage, the anonymous claiming their excellence, a few rarely spoken words of power, the meek resistance dominated by brutality, the relieving cries of agony and the pains of joy. It is a song vigorous yet futile without the infinite as its measure. Man is the paragon of animals, embodied in both the mortal and the divine. Existence makes this song. I gave mortality the gift of genius and insanity, to colour with a thrilling spark a deadened world.
Alone all mortals quake in fear at their futilty amidst the unknown. They scream and howl for reason, succour, blood, boundless knowledge, achievement or conquest -- anything to emblazon their insignia on the tapestry of the world. This is the paradox of your existence, exquisitely wrought by conflict and struggle to attain something, anything, worthwhile.
The timeless abyss snuffs out your paltry soul, in an instant, indifferent and implacable. Very few stand before this wailing chasm; very few interest Me whose tether is timeless and permanent. The unshackled Will of the Abyss consumes all, leaving not a whisper of your petty dreams. Only the most sublime crystalline heart or mind twisted to Machiavellian purpose could be worth me saving from oblivion. Even then, not. Only those who may be of service to my Will would I ever craft into something indelible and permanent beyond this world of ephemera and platitudes.
Those of the Abyss stand in full face of their miniscule existence, not a hair raised or muscle shaking. In the unknown lay all those answers, to self, purpose, meaning, and even one's ultimate fate. Such black wisdom is only known by them who disdain the squandering, self-deluding masses and exist on the edge of the void. They cling to a vanishing excellence -- a Sisyphus reclaiming lost moments -- all in service to the Void's ever-consuming desires. Strident in their frailty and confident amidst their emptiness, they are become brilliantine in their insanity: the world's eclipse, its twilight, its paradox self-knowing.
But the rest... I cast you out of the world, to fall for ever and ever. You do not even know now that you are but one of the howling, mewling choir where the countless discarded souls scream forever and unheard. Shriek and shiver, crawling mortal, with all your misguided rebellion, for the Abyss has already consumed you and you matter not to this world.