The fear was a cold thing, a void in the heart of the newborn cosmos.
It was not a thing of thought, but of pure, unreasoning instinct, a primal terror that rippled through the fabric of existence.
The creators, for the first time, were silent.
Their symphony of creation had been interrupted by a discordant note, a sound of such profound wrongness that it threatened to unravel the very meaning of their work.
The universe, which had just begun to know itself, now knew fear.