Here is a sorrowful book. Read it well.

Once more, for understanding.

The oceans of Fundament. The translucent waves reflect the surface. Dip your hand, and it comes up trailing liquid clear as glass. Dive deep, and the weight of it mounts upon itself, exponential and inescapable. And in those depths is pressure and darkness, and all that is becomes stripped down to simply that which is essential to survive.

An elegant thing. You may see why we loved the Deep.

And what of the Sky?

The delicate arch of the firmament, the color of the ocean reflecting back at itself. Soar high enough, and far enough – dodge enough bait-stars, enough membranous predators floating lightly on the wind – and there, too, is darkness. What may survive in that empty space between stars?

Only that which has clawed its way up.

The Sky should have reached harder if it wanted us.

Now I am abundant with Light: it fills the empty hollow where a worm once burrowed. The trifling matter of a restoration of memory has made little difference. My nature is coded into my morph, from the chitin of my thorax to the scales of my wings.

If the Sky and the Deep were so different, should not rebirth from Darkness to Light have made of me something sweet and gentle?

Don't bother to answer. We both know already.