There once was a Perfect Being. The Perfect Being lived out his perfect life quiet perfectly. One day, after what felt like an infinity of perfect, and with nothing to compare it to, the Perfect Being grew tired of his perfect life.

The Perfect Being decided it was time for something new. The Perfect Being couldn’t carry on like this.

The plan was simple. the Perfect Being’s would be split into billions and billions of pieces. These piece would be other forms of life living in an imperfect universe.

As that universe, the Perfect Being would experience every walk of life, every high and low and every moment, good and bad.

The Perfect Being would be the sun that shone on the planet, the glass that grew on the planet, the animal that ate the grass, and the animal that ate that animal. They would give and receive every act of love or hate. All of it, imperfect.

When all this played out, the Perfect Being would be whole again, with a billion lifetimes to compare their perfect existence to. Or so the Perfect Being hoped. To perform this transformation they would have to die, not knowing if things would ever return to normal. No one had ever died before, that would be imperfect.

Anything was better than perfect. And so it began.