Hmm, in some ways, yes, I do mean that, and in other ways, well. That is not this story, but a story that came into being because of this one.

[ Meaning Solomon will not get the following story. Rest in pieces, old man.

Fandaniel steps closer to the painting, attention turned towards it and away from Solomon. He reaches up, running his gloved fingers over the figures, slowly, ponderously. ]

Before the world I know now, there was one before it. The same, yet not. A paradise where mankind could live for as long as they wished to. They played endlessly with their creation magics, making the most fantastic constructs and creatures, ensuring only those that suited the world they wished to see were allowed to be integrated into the wild.

It was perfect, or so my fellows would tell you.