A streak of blue rests within the volumes of her hair: a teasing girlish quirk in contrast to the quietness of her gaze over the world passing before and around her.

Her eyes are steady. Her face is calm. Her colors beckon to you, you in your grey-toned world. You watch her like she is fulcrum and focal point, like the universe spins around her and her alone. She is unique and beautiful and so far beyond the boundaries of reality. You’ve been waiting for her your whole life. She is a goddess to be worshiped, a paragon to pay homage to. She will fill the void in your soul, pour in her wisdom where your heart is an empty cup, and finally give your life meaning.

Or so you think, but you’re wrong.

All you see are the constellations on the surface of her ocean, but even the darkest parts of the sea are not as deep as her soul. Her dreams and truths are brighter and more far-flung than the stars. She is fire and flowers, blizzards and moons. She is a creature of questions, not answers.

Her mask flickers for but an instant, and the soaring pedestal you constructed comes tumbling down, stone by stone. The statue you made for her has crumbled to clay, and she has broken your heart, cracked your empty cup. You saw but a glimpse of her secret world, and trembled in fear.

She continues to gaze, nothing changed from the moment before, but you are not who you were anymore. A piece of you remains with her, an extracted payment, and you walk away, searching for another tomorrow, while she completes her today.

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