"May we be the same. May we be the closest we could be," the sorrowful spirit says.

"May we never be alike. May we be the farthest we could be," the sorrowful spirit says.

The world has been cast into the void; it is a coin, tumbling in no direction, waiting to land on a fateful side.

On the world coin, there are two spirits, each one residing on a side of the tumbling piece.

The two sides of the coin flip and spin endlessly, flitting the facades of both spirits in concert.

"I have been ruined by pain. I want blood," the sorrowful spirit cries. It is desparate—and in its desparation, despair becomes its driving force, the catalyst for all its future holds.

Should the world coin land on this spirit's side, the world will be engulfed in madness. Destruction will breed destruction, blazing ceaselessly like hell's inferno until there is no more. Those who receive pain will forge the wounds of that pain onto others, so that they may tie themselves up in the same thread of fate and never be released.

"I have been ruined by pain. I want life," the sorrowful spirit cries. It is desparate—and in its desparation, love becomes its driving force, the catalyst for all its future holds.

Should the world coin land on this spirit's side, the world will be embraced by hate. Destruction will breed destruction, blazing ceaselessly like hell's inferno until there is no more. Those who receive pain will destroy every sprout of that pain growing upon others, so that they may cut the bindings and never find themselves tied up in the same thread of fate as another.

In this void, to which no end can be perceived, the world coin tumbles, its landing two paths which could equally be walked.