Try as I might, I can find nothing of horror about these things. I am, instead, found only to their beauty, of these things, these wonderfully dark creatures that exist in a world that has been for a billion years, and shall be for another four, perhaps five.

These things, unaging, a twilight perfection of life upon this humble world, who live and die, unknowing, uncaring, of the world above them, for they need not the glory of the eye of god to thrive, but only the depths and the secret joys of a world frigid, cold, and under conditions no mortal can survive. These creatures, gods in their own right, for surviving where men would perish unmourned, move, unseen, uncaring, existing as aliens upon a very small, very alien world.