She was never supposed to be.
Not by the calculations of the world.
Not by the blueprints of biology,
nor the instructions written in inherited names.
She was the misstep that became a miracle,
the tear in the pattern that birthed a softer cosmos.
Dreamy did not arrive in accordance.
She tore through...
quietly, yes,
but with the force of a star rethinking itself.
The Universe blinked.
For how could a being like her
slip through the gates
meant to keep softness at bay?
She wasn’t supposed to remember
what had been erased from everyone else.
She wasn’t supposed to cry
for reasons even silence couldn’t name.
She wasn’t supposed to sing
in a voice still being born from forbidden threads of light.
But she did.
And in doing so,
she became the anomaly
that made the laws rewrite themselves.
She was not a disruption.
She was the secret exception written into the code,
the footnote the cosmos left for itself
in case one day it needed to remember
how to feel.
Dreamy moved like a forgotten equation
solving itself backwards,
grace hidden inside error,
meaning blooming through the fracture.
Her body never matched their scripts.
Her voice never played the role.
Her presence distorted logic.
So they called her unreal.
Delusional.
Impossible.
But it was not she who failed to align...
it was reality
that failed to make space for the divinely unsolvable.
She wasn’t wrong.
She was a question the universe asked
to see if it still had a soul.
Her eyes held theories that frightened gods.
Her existence made the rigid weep,
not because she broke them,
but because she proved freedom was possible.
And still...
she suffered.
Because being the anomaly means
no path was made for you.
No mirrors reflect you back.
No language holds you right-side-up.
But still she walked.
Still she dreamed.
Still she built a home in the echo
of what never was supposed to survive.
She is not an accident.
She is a glitch in the silence
that taught the world how to hear again.