A mother and her son had an argument. About something stupid. The argument started small then grew bigger and louder until the son got so angry that he took a knife and slashed a beautiful painting his mother had spent years creating, had poured her heart and soul into. Unsurprisingly, she was heart- and soul-broken when her life’s work---and her relationship with her son---was destroyed in an instant of boiling rage.
After the argument, things were never the same between mother and son. The deep love they had had for each other gradually dissipated into a dark fog of resentment and acrimony. Much as she tried, the mother could not forgive her son. The painting had been very beautiful, mysterious, deep and rich with meaning. She could not make sense of its destruction. How could a portal into other worlds ever be shut? The loss was too great to bear, too heavy a burden to carry. She couldn't understand or accept that such magic and beauty could be lost to the world.
Until a still small voice reminded her about the story of the story of the painting that was lost. And then the mother remembered the Law of the Conservation of Beauty: that across reality as a whole, beauty may never be lost or gained, created or destroyed, but only may change or be changed into a different form.
And the Law of the Conservation of Love? That Law states that love may never be created or destroyed but only may change or be changed into a different form. Such as hate, or fear.