She opened her eyes as the clouds gave shape to her existence a limited form, a mere illusion of what she truly was. A constructed interpretation, born from this place, designed to be an avatar of herself… only to face a conversation she had been avoiding for quite some time.
Her gaze settled on the pink-tinted clouds far in the distance, observing beyond what concepts like distance could ever hope to define.
Her maternal eyes focused on her little falling star. She watched carefully as her daughter's face lit up with pure joy while speaking to the two figures accompanying her.
One was a young girl, nearly her daughter's age, skin the shade of cinnamon and dark eyes brimming with undeniable curiosity toward the strangeness around her — paired with a determination directed toward something the goddess couldn't name, something veiled in possibility.
The girl seemed like a good influence on her daughter —beyond connecting with humans, beyond simply feeling part of them. But in the end, she was still just a dreamer, driven by a resolve that might one day kill her if she wasn't careful.
Then there was the other companion — a young human by appearance, whose only truly remarkable features were those abyss-black eyes. Eyes that, rather than swallowing you into darkness, reflected back a flame one forged from platinum torn from the stars — burning with equal parts curiosity and amusement, as if the mere fact of your existence gave him some kind of macabre euphoria.
But that was merely the surface. Beneath that façade of humanity hid something she neither could — nor wanted to — name. Just the memory of that absolute gaze turned toward her made her gem tremble under the weight of truths no goddess, not even alongside her sisters, should ever come to know.
And yet, despite it all, she needed to stop being afraid of him. Because when she thought about it carefully, she realized that every action taken by this boy had led to outcomes far better than she had expected. He was always there to lend a hand to her daughter, and truthfully… he didn't seem like a bad person. Just… someone who existed.
Still, fear doesn't vanish just like that. Not after having been broken and rebuilt in part so that time itself could be stitched into one. She looked at the boy for what he was: a supernatural being — but at least one who stood on her daughter's side.
And when her gaze met his, despite the impossible distance between them, he looked back. There was a question in that glance, and had she not already prepared herself for something like this, she might have truly been afraid. Not that her trembling hands could hide it.
But it seemed she wasn't a priority for him — almost immediately, the boy focused again on whatever her little star was saying. She exhaled with a mix of relief and frustration. If she truly wanted to understand what this being her daughter had befriended was, she wouldn't get many other chances.
Yet, things never go as even she expects. A male voice whispered behind her, and all her senses screamed in alarm — a sense of danger she had grown used to lately, one she didn't want to feel ever again.
"To what do I owe your unexpected visit to the material world, little falling star?" he said, eyes fixed on her. That curious tone mingled with a silent threat hidden in the final words — words he shouldn't have known, yet somehow did, and seemed far too indifferent to care.
My eyes met his, and unexpectedly, the platinum abyss was gone. There was only a man called Adrian, standing in front of me, waiting for a reply.
I sighed for what must have been the hundredth time that day, but I asked him the only question that had truly mattered to me for a long time.
"What do you think of this world?"
I didn't ask his goals — I doubted I could even understand them.
I didn't ask something as absurd as morality.
I didn't ask what he truly was , terrified of the answer he might give, forged in the same primordial truths that accompanied his existence.
He paused, thinking though to me, it felt like eternity — before a small, genuine smile surfaced on his face.
"Of all the questions you could've asked, you chose one I've already answered? Even if not asked directly, but by one of your pawns?" he spoke while his eyes closed softly, a grimace of confusion forming on his face — only to be crushed by an infinite, cold calm, like the void between stars.
Before I could argue, he continued not as if responding to me, but as though monologuing on the absurdity of human beings. His form overlapped with the unreality of what he was, his twisted metal hand extending toward infinity in a gesture I'd never seen before — but instinctively understood as silence.
His shape morphed back into reality as though it had never changed — a mere illusion in my mind. Sweat ran down my forehead, my hands trembling. I feared that gaze… even if only that.
"You know, I had hoped that, as a being who also transcends reality, you might have overcome your irrational fear of the unknown. That you might at least understand I seek not something so stupid as the death of your friends — if that's even how you see them — or your daughter. Why would I? Do you believe death is something I'd take delight in?"
His words came slowly and heavily, like a hammer pressing metal in a forge.
The underlying weight of what he said, how he said it — it terrified me more than I already was. And yet I looked on, waiting for an answer. He simply sighed, and then his voice echoed from all directions — a silent hymn, like the rumble of a motor. Even his breathing blended into the smoke of industry beyond imagination. The wisdom of humans long gone, now remembered only as pioneers of knowledge, surged forward like a rising tide. The melody of truths driven into madness formed a third layer — infinitely beautiful, yet equally incomprehensible.
"That which seeks the destruction of the earth shall meet the end of its existence by my hands."
His words shattered the imposed truth of this place into something else — something she feared.
Infinite worlds fragmented, stars consumed in eternal darkness — a punishment only something truly inhuman could conceive. She saw the eternal fire of war in his eyes, silver flames devouring all, and yet — guarding a paradise of green and blue.
She saw how war never touched that paradise. How the joy of its people never faltered. How they lived ordinary lives. How they sometimes achieved greatness, or simply fell into the abyss. How they suffered. How they loved. How they feared.
Billions of lives passed before her eyes.
From the worthless, the forgettable — to those whose stories would never be told.
"Tell me, O goddess who rebelled against her sisters — how is this any different from what you once did?" his voice whispered before continuing.
"I—" I couldn't think. My mind couldn't find an answer even if it were right in front of me. Seeing all of this — the joy, the suffering, the peace and the war, all in equal measure — left me unable to process what he truly meant.
"The difference is that I'm right — is that what you think I'd say? No.
The difference… is that I don't plan to ruin the lives of those I've come to care for, just for the sake of my goals."
His words blended with reality itself, which fractured into a kaleidoscope. A platinum armor now adorned him, blood and crystal dust spilling from his hands like rivers of endless suffering.
"The difference is that I want everything. I want a world where those I've come to call friends can choose their own fate."
His infinite voice shattered the very concept of that final word.
Adrian's words broke something that didn't belong to this world. She saw how something subtle shifted into a truer vision — how things lost all meaning, how nothing was absolute anymore, only a possibility.
She no longer knew how to feel. Empty? Scolded? She didn't know. But it seemed this wasn't over.
"And don't get me started on your irresponsibility."
Reality shattered like a dream of infinite colors, replaced by the gaze of a man — human — whose rage and contempt tore at every fiber of her immortal being, without any need for the supernatural.
"You expect her to be your redemption. You hope she'll begin a new era — but at what cost? Her happiness? Her destiny?!"
He shouted, gaze fixed upon her. She tried to reply, but the words wouldn't come.
"Even if you love her deeply, you only created her as a way to reinvent yourself, didn't you? But she didn't turn out how you hoped, and now you're stuck with it."
Adrian fell silent.
"I hope you're happy with your decisions, Pink. Because all I see… is one bad choice stacked upon another."
He turned his back, disdain in every step.
"I hope you understand that no matter how much I may understand your situation… I will never sympathize with your existence.
As a mother, you're just a trash excuse for a person."
His voice cut through the air and as if he had never been there, he vanished.
Rose Quartz wept in silence confronted by truths she never wanted to accept.