andromeda

—

The sky was a gaping endless void, coming at her in a sudden rush of overwhelming blackness, its pressure a heavy crush on her chest. Still she kept on rising, higher and higher until her battleground and home were no more than abstract smudges of colors, and when the motion finally stopped she stretched her arms and embraced the vast space that promised nothing but void.

She didn't feel afraid. The noble choice had, perhaps, given her courage and determination and resolve, and the never-ending galaxy didn't seem so ominous and intimidating as she had thought it would.

Besides, there were the stars—far-off glimmering diamonds scattered all around her like pixie dust, beacons of light and hope.

And in the middle of nowhere she hovered, stark against the sky, maybe a goddess, maybe a ghost, her name lost in the ascent.

—

The sky is her dress, a rippling gown of dark blues and purples, its hems gilded by star-sequins. Her hair spreads behind her, billowing tendrils and patches that make up the universe: kaleidoscopic nebula and starburst, fallings stars and intricate constellations.

She is the universe, sitting on her throne of void, her warriors clustered all around her in glittery disarrays. Most of the time, she hears nothing, though sometimes there's a low rumbling sound of galaxies colliding with each other, or a loud grumble of black holes sucking things close to them.

Here, she waits, and she sleeps and wakes again—how long she's been here, she never knows. The time flows through her, a rush of silver blood, cold and gray. She is eternity.

But sometimes, in this frosty cradle of timeless respite, she dreams.

She dreams of places and people, of colors and shapes, of stories eternity can never retell and rewrite.

—

She burns, aglow with white fire, a pale spear tearing across the sky that leaves strange violet bruises between clusters of nebulae. Soon, she leaves her soldiers, her black throne; she is falling and falling and falling, and her surroundings begin to thin in depth and turn brighter in hue.

Hitting the exosphere is like hitting a glass. The impact creates a thousand sparkling suns, embers of light afloat only for a fraction of second, before plunging downwards along with her. The clouds are on her, and then no more as the land below comes into view: a spread of greens and browns and grays freckled with intermittent multi-colored beams which attain their details as she descends lower.

She's under the sea and in the waves that roll and kiss the shores, she's above rows of trees and flying east with a flock of birds, she's swimming between and through skyscrapers and bridges and houses, and when the seemingly incessant flight stops, she finds herself tumbling down to what she later learns is the earth.

—

There's a blond girl standing by the sidewalk, an umbrella poised across her right shoulder, its orange veil shielding her from the rain that has been consistent throughout the day. Someone calls her name and she snaps her head around, golden eyes brightening expectantly, but her happy expression quickly changes into that of irritation. The redhead, her friend, ambles toward her with a careless grin plastered to her face, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.

"It isn't the rain that kept you so long, is it?" They leave the sidewalk and away from the crowd, up the steps that lead them to a rusty gate with complex carvings, beyond which the bushes and thorns and wild flowers are overgrown, and tombstones gaze at the sky with cryptic somberness.

The redhead shrugs, smile wilting, skipping across the graveyard and maneuvering her way toward their destination with ease. The blond catches up and they reach a tomb on which a name tells a thousand words and stories, and they stare down at it in silence.

"Tell me Mami, how long has it been?"

Mami expels a sigh, puts a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Sometimes there are things we have to let go, Kyoko. It's past time we... moved on."

"I know." The redhead croaks, biting down her bottom lip.

The star-princess, the girl who falls from the sky, watches as the two companions mutter their goodbye to the past and leave the memorial, go down the steps that will escort them back to the present, and possibly to the future that will know no graveyards and ghosts.

They're gone and the star-princess is still there, looking at the tombstone, and then to where the two had disappeared, and she wonders why their leaving stirs something deep inside her, unlocks something that's been kept away for a long time.

She wonders what it is—but even their names are gone as soon as she falls again, this time back into the sky.

—

Something awakens her. When she opens her eyes she sees colors swirling and rotating around her, some bursting, some dispersing, some merging: a splendorous fountain gushing out like iridescent fireworks. The sparks fly and fall, restless.

She moves despite herself, guided by the brilliant spheres, and hears and sees. There are shapes and faces behind the vibrant waterfall of light. It's hard to tell what or who they are, and they wash over her in a vehement wave of unfamiliarity and familiarity.

There's laughter in the light-suffocated air, and there are cries also. There are words and mumbled talks and hearty laughs, voices of so many people that override each other. The noise leaves a strange lonely echo in her head afterward.

Just when she thinks it is finally over, an explosion of white engulfs her, the shifting lights disappear, and she along with them.

—

The smoke is black and thick like ashes of the dead as she makes her descent. The murky clouds part only to reveal a field marked by protruding rocks and gaunt trees with sharp brown leaves, their shadows grotesque, black monsters crawling on the ground.

The grass is burnt and bent, and across them runs a trail of wine-red, sporadic splatters that would have made her crinkle her nose if she had been real—but she is not. She is more than real. She is four dimensional like time, a fleeting shadow rippling behind the looking-glass, transparent to this world.

She descends on tumultuous flurries of charred leaves and dust, and follows the crimson trail as if it was a sacred sign. It leads her to a clearing far from where she landed: trees are less frequent here, and rocks protrude defiantly among the scorched grass—on which, she quickly spots, lies a black haired girl whose eyes remind her of a predawn sky painted in indigos and purples.

The star-princess approaches the girl and notices that there is still life in her, though it is pale like her blood-caked face. The girl lays still, her breath labored, both hands hanging limply on either side… but then she notices that the girl's right hand moves, closing in around what appears to be a red ribbon.

The star frowns, and this world swells with colorless blurs, details diminishing and edges swallowed up by endless darkness. But before all returns to void, she thought she saw the jet haired girl looking up, their eyes meeting for the first time, and a word, a name, slips from between those purple-dyed lips.

After that, the black haired girl disappears with the rest of the world.

—

When she wakes up, there's a tune in her head.

She opens her mouth and starts to sing, a soft and sad melody that has no words, a hollow reiteration of her dreams.

Ah, if only she could sleep forever… for in those dreams she can't quite recall there is warmth.

But this nothingness that has no end is her reality.

Gray. Cold. Her home.

—

She danced on rainbow wisps and the beads on her dress tinkled and flashed with different colors. Her smile was broad and bright, and she was pretty and luminous. She was a mystery as she was a secret, and people called her by different names, each always exotic and beautiful sounding, only fitting for a creature like her.

Perhaps she was Andromeda, or maybe she was Virgo, Cassiopeia, Sagittarius—she would always be the princess that graced the sky with alluring splendor, worshipped, gazed upon, admired. Her true name, though, was something else entirely—arguably less grand than the halls of her castle.

No one knew of it. And no one ever would.

For it was a secret, blurred and buried in the halo of stars around her head.

—

"I'll always remember you,

..."

—

a/n: I imagine eternity will be a boring place, and most of all, cold and lonely. I don't think being a goddess/god (or in this case, being Madoka), trapped somewhere in the middle of nowhere will be pretty. Eternity may sound romantic, but I think it is gray and sinister.

Please tell me what you think, thanks for reading, and reviews would be greatly appreciated!

- Ryfee