The Sovereign had angelic children, all of them bright and promising, each of them well-brought-up, and well-provided for. The eldest knew his father well, and envied his father, if truth be told, though why this should be so, I cannot say.
In due course, upon attaining his maturity, the eldest took his place and ruled at his father’s right hand. He was well-equipped to fulfill this destiny, for his father had personally taught him everything that he, himself knew.
The eldest was said to be so like his father: he excelled in science and art, mathematics and music; and his understanding of all these things was very keen. It was said that the eldest was every bit as creative and capable as the Sovereign himself. Every bit as creative and capable. Furthermore, his countenance, much like his father’s, was very stunning to behold.
The Sovereign, being very ancient, had a goodly number of angelic children, and governed his kingdom with incredible wisdom, setting each of his children in positions of authority perfectly suited to their particular temperaments.
This, then, was a peaceable kingdom.
You have heard of what once happened, though, have you not? It has long been told that the eldest once led many of his siblings to usurp the kingly throne.
You have heard of what the Sovereign did, to preserve the peaceable kingdom: how he banished the usurpers to the pain of his own heart.
Have you heard, though, of the anguish of the other angelic children? Have you heard, dears, of the anguish of the ones who did not rebel when their brother led a band against their father, and was captured, and was banished, to the pain of the Sovereign’s heart?
Oh, they did not understand — these angelic children. They could not say why the eldest took upon him what he did. They could not say why so many followed in this horrid train. Nor could they say why they were not also caught up in this folly themselves.
Hence, the Sovereign himself would teach them, telling stories — many stories. So creative was the Sovereign that a whole new world was born of his words, as he taught his angel children with a wisdom full of nuance, rich with color, music, logic, justice, humor, mercy, irony.
The stories first began, though, with a single metaphor: how in overcoming chaos, there had been the first dividing of the darkness from the light.
The stories have continued since before the dawn of time. Many stories every evening, many stories every morning. Every nuance, every possibility, is explained to angel children, as the Sovereign tells his story.
Sometimes, still, the angel children, as creative as their father, when they know just how the tale should go, will write part of it themselves; never usurping, though, for that brings chaos. Mostly, though, they watch and listen. With eager faces they urge him on, as he creates new characters, new situations, amazing stories, all intertwined, a tapestry that is really one story yet seems to be infinite as the heavens themselves.
Have you guessed, yet, who the Sovereign is? Why the Creator of All, my dears. And the angelic children are the Watchers and the Holy Ones. And we, dears, are his story. And this is not the end. So creative is the Sovereign that the characters in his story have been crafted in the very image of the Sovereign himself — have, in fact, been given life, and that not merely fictional, either.
The angel children continue to watch, but we who are the characters of his story have been created to be more creative, even, than the angel children themselves. We always write our own places in his story, whereas they only write a few lines. Yet we are limited as to time and place, which they are not; and our stories are collective and diverse, overlapping with each other’s as we co-create and tell the tale of all that can ever be.