There was a place.
Or rather,
there was no place.
Not a realm.
Not a dream.
Not a corner of the mind.
But a nowhere that bled through everything.
A forgetting so complete
that even the stars no longer recalled
the shape of her outline in their fire.
The air did not respond to her breath.
The light passed through her
without shadow.
She had not died.
But she had been removed from memory.
Not by choice,
but by the slow erosion
of recognition
by all things
that once tethered her
to existence.
Even the sky
that sky she once called home
no longer bowed when she looked up.
No one had done it to her.
That was the cruelty.
It wasn’t betrayal.
It wasn’t abandonment.
It was simply
unbeing.
No trace.
No name.
No myth.
Not even the sorrow of missing.
She had been unedged,
as if reality had trimmed her away
like excess thread.
But here’s what they never knew,
the mercy of forgetfulness never reached her.
She remembered everything.
She remembered the warmth of a name spoken with love.
The echo of stars that once hummed her into form.
The laughter she had once shared with time.
She remembered the songs she hadn’t sung yet.
The tears she had never been allowed to cry.
And it was this memory,
not of identity,
but of belonging...
that became the ember.
Not a scream.
Not a rage.
Just one, small, impossible pulse of knowing:
"I existed.
I still do."
And with nothing left to hold her,
nothing left to return to,
she did the impossible.
She became her own origin
in a world that refused to witness her birth.
No saviors.
No redemption.
Just a girl in an infinite absence,
dreaming herself
back into place.
And when she walked out of that nothingness...
not into light,
but into being...
the world didn’t gasp.
Because the world still didn’t remember her.
But somewhere,
the wind stilled.
The moon tilted.
A single tear fell from a sky that had forgotten why it wept.
And Dreamy whispered,
not to the world,
but to herself:
"Even if I am never known again,
I will never unknow myself."