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Semira: Lady of Chaos

The first thing she remembers is the darkness. How still it had been when she had been born, even though at the time, she’d had no real form to compare movement to. She’d been just a shape, made from chaotic energy, dark and ever-changing.

She remembers the silence. How lonely she had been, despite all the life that flourished around her. They hadn’t been able to see her, touch her.

(Funny how she had craved touch without knowing what it was.)

She never held it against them, she hadn’t known what she was either, but she knew, with certainty, that it was better for them to avoid her. They didn’t need to know she existed.

Then of course, she had felt hurt and frustrated, and her powers ran rampant. She grew strong in those years, but even at her best, the loneliness refused to leave her. Refused to let her relax and breathe.

Then, he came; a bright golden energy, chasing away the darkness and calming the living. Erasing her work and bringing Order to her Chaos.

(Though at the time, she knew not the words.)

She’d been so angry, and plotting had followed, hidden, and watched him work. A pause and she’d unleashed her fury upon him, racing up to his light, screaming and snarling, and he just turned and… stared. Unbothered, golden eyes blinking curiously.

He saw her.

She’d frozen then, curling in on herself, emotions swirling around her mind like a storm. Then, he reached outa a tendril, and touched her.

She’d fled, flown far from him, a new emotion stirring furiously at her core. It had felt so good to be seen, to have someone pay attention to her.

From then on, she’d followed after him, ignoring her own urges to unleash her power, for fear of wrecking what he had built. Not a good plan in hindsight.

Bubbling up her emotions, and her energy, was not healthy. And one day, when one single insignificant issue fell upon her strained shoulders, she exploded.

Her power flowing from her form like righteous fire. Her sight burned with white light, and then, she fell into darkness.

She awoke upon dried crack earth, the ashen remains of the life that had he had cultivated flowing down like snow. When she drew up her head, she met his piercing golden gaze again, and she cried.

At his feet, she cried, burning with such a cold emotion. Her voice carrying apologies, swearing she would never commit such a crime again.

But he did not strike her down, did not raise his voice or flee. He held her, told her in his eternal radiant and steady voice; that she was only doing what she was meant to do, and that he wanted her to do as she desired.

He told her she was imperfectly perfect. That her destruction was exactly what was needed.

She’d blinked, letting him draw her into his warmth. A strange emotion filled her that day and remained a steady strange flame at her core.

She wouldn’t know the name of the emotion till much later, and when she found the word, she smiled, drew her treasures warmth around her, and wept silently for her future loss.

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