One first tear dropped in a lake of light
Slowly, the Artist backs away from his new artwork, contemplating it with a critical eye. She seems to be born from sunbeam to a vivid flame, bathed in a pool of light, a distinct power emanate from her perfectly shaped body. Feathered fair lady, fierce fairy, crowned by the sun, she's purity at its utmost no man shall lay their eyes on her, set aside her creator. And the Artist details every part of this purity, correcting some unwanted mistakes, adding some perfection to an already perfect woman.
When he turns back, satisfied, giving it a last glance, he'd swear he's seen the wind drawing shapes in her wings and life in her lungs. He slowly goes to rest, while she spreads her wings and takes her flight.
That's the power of creation.
Tens of tears dropped in a lake of shadow
It's a sour morning when the Artist wakes up, only to encounter his biggest mistake. As he stares to meet the eyes of his creation