The true history of that irritant, Hope

As transcribed by Edgar Alan Poe
The true history of that irritant, Hope-
-or the constraints of memory in two dimensions
We infinite Fae then drifted into divergence. We were separate, doomed to never coalesce again it seemed. And the spheres themselves pulled apart, with some of us becoming spheres in and of ourselves.
Strth had become such a sphere, truer to our original form, but folded inside himself. Yet he too could not escape a drive for human experience and, in his idleness, peeled parts of himself away, sent them out past his constraints. Some he worked on deeply, pastiching different elements of the human experience, to torment them in love and strife. His feelings as little Faelings...
S
ome of his creations-hating this pull, hating the beings that were their models-created unfriendly parodies. Verdurous things, without Hope, designed to chase it down and destroy it.
But many found themselves drawn to humanity and the kin we found-found their impossible desires trapped in their limited forms alleviated only by impossible Hope-found that intoxicating.
Momus of course, was first amongst them, petting, breeding, curating his flock of born-to-dies. Until the star-iron came, that is...