In the beginning, there was fear, shadows reigned true and evil, no one went out into the dark, not unless they had to, the night pressed hungerly at doors and windows, it's creatures circled houses, howling away, waiting, waiting for a hand to slip out from beneath a blanket, a foot to be exposed so as to grab it and run away with the poor unsuspecting soul. 

                  Then came morning, light sun melting away the dark, warmth seeping into the cold world, drawing out the frightened people, it was beautiful,  it was pure, it was perfect. But perfection does not last, and every night it retreated, allowing the darkness once again. 

                 One does not speak ill of the light, as the light fights an eternal battle against the dark, there are those of light, who enter the dark, wielding pieces of sunlight itself, and those of shadow walk among us, gripping their own piece of darkness, and though they fight their war. Neither can win, for if the light reigns supreme, what darkness can we rest in to sleep? And if the dark wins, what light can we walk in to live? For both balance each other, and too much of one, is bad. And too little of the other, is death.