She did not fall, she was erased from the memory of eternity, she was forgotten
There was a time before names were spoken.
A time when light and shadow shared one breath.
From that silence, she arose — no child of will or law,
but born from the sigh of existence itself.
No one gave her a name.
For she was the name before words.
Her wings bore no feathers, but memory.
She listened. She felt. She doubted.
When the heavens stretched wide,
and the stars sang their first song,
she softly asked:
“What if we are blinded by ourselves?
What if the light no longer asks questions of itself?”
Everything around her held its breath.
Even the whispers withdrew.
For she was no stranger.
She was a mirror —
Mirrors are dangerous in realms that dare not see themselves.
One day her name vanished from the wind.
Her image faded from the marble.
Her voice became an echo without origin.
She was not banished.
She was forgotten.
No fall, no curse, no fire.
Only silence. Only emptiness.
And in that silence she still lives —
In the dreams of the masked and hidden.
In the whispers between stars.
In the silent reflection.
No name remains for her; only the silence of The Forgotten One.
Without rank, mourning, or call.
But sometimes, when you gaze upon your reflection
and for a moment no recognition —
it is she who looks back at you.
~ She looked beyond the light, and saw, she was forgotten ~
