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Power of Creation IV


The worlds were robust, the worlds were plenty. They were made of precious stones and plain rocks, of hurricanes, of oceans and ice. They ate the light of stars, and they drifted through space so unimaginably vast, so unimaginably lonely.
The worlds were thriving, they had practice in becoming. They didn’t count the time, eras came and went but they stayed forever.

When oblivion comes, they transform and become something else, something new. Nothing really ends and the universe is great and grand, ever-changing.

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