Symphonia

The first gods were dreamed into being.

The painter created a world, the most perfect and beautiful world there could ever be.
The singer created life, as many and as varied as the notes in an unending song.
The poet taught us this, and made it real.   The world was perfect for a time. This perfect world was Symphonia.   Until the dream began to end, and a terrible nightmare consumed the world.
The painter was blinded, he paints only darkness now.

The singer fled, her song could not end, even as the nightmare crept into it.

The poet vanished.   The world was shattered into a thousand shards, each one a fragile echo of that perfection.
We have named our home Meloda.