In the darkened skies of the inner cosmos; in the place where dragons lie: A lonely muse drifts through the backwaters of the galaxies, singing a sorrowful song.
However, her lament does not go unheard – a lost cosmonaught, left for dead to drift in the endless reams of space, rescues the lonely muse from her eternal fate, and returns with her to a land of oceans and of Fixed Rate APRs.
Here, they now make music together – a glorious song, proclaiming their newfound joy for the world. And – for many blue moons – all is well for them.
Until, in time, the lost cosmonaught returns to the earth from whence he was born, and the muse – distraught and alone once more – returns to the skies to ride the tideless waves of space for all time.
Yet – in their precious few years together – they did have a son. One, unearthly son, conceived at the very crux of the symphonies they performed together.
One, ungodly son, that was ne’er alike anything before him, yet shaped things irreversibly that came after him.
I was that child.
They call me Ginger Dan.
And this, is not my story: