Darkness.

It squirmed in entropy, waiting for something to change. It felt nothing and everything all at one time.

The light was birthed from the dusk of the darkness. The light was not something it believed to be possible, yet the light stood devilishly on the cusp of creation.

It closed upon itself, unable to bear the pain of the light.

It waited an unimaginable amount of time for the pain to subside. Once it felt the presence of life, it could not bear to be closed any longer.

It looked down upon what had formed in its stead, and it was not pleased.

This was the beginning of the end, as it always had to be.