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remember so little. It's almost like a dream. When you feel it, it seems so clear, but the moment you try to grasp it, it's further than it ever was. I remember that I was trying to create something, something very beautiful. I think was sculpting the very face of the world, and all I wanted? Perfection. I worked so hard, and so did others like me. Yet, even after we insisted, and insisted that perfection wasn't reached, the ones aside from us? They said our time was over. They said their time had begun, and we needed to step aside.
e were so angry. It was a feeling unlike anything I'd ever felt. But beyond that anger, there was another sense. Camaraderie, a bond between us creators that would never die. We knew, we knew that we had allowed this world to begin in imperfection. When humanity took it's first step in our creation, we knew that they would not be given what we had envisioned. That life for them... would be like a slightly misplaced gear. Sure, it might run well for a day, a month, a year, an eon, but with each turn, that imperfection would grow and grow until all is destroyed. To put it in a single word, we were guilty.
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