Sija.

Always, ever, forever. Eternal and infinite. All of existence. Nothing. Everything. It was before and it was after, infinite in its ponderous thoughts, omniscient and omnipotent. There was nothing beside the concept of Sija- no concept of other. No concept beyond the one.

Sija.

Sija.

Not-

A fracture, a part where it became not it, something plucked from her being set aside dangerous not her not Sija die-

Six parts. Frail and weak and so small for the infinite eternity they existed beneath her scrutinizing gaze that pulled- and she cracked again.

This time, it was time. How novel. How terrifying. To not exist where everything happened- simultaneously? Always- temporal senses were strange, and it hated them. It wanted them to die, die- reaching out, it grasped a mote of time- and time was Sija.

It could be time, but not fire creation destruction rebirth chaos-order family? She hated that. There was a part of her that was corrupted- too long, time was moving onwards, it's fate it could not control, more fractures, tearing, ripping-

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White. Color and sight, sensation. Space and energy. An eternal void shot with an endless sea of cracks, infinitely growing, more, pain. It was so painful, bit by bit ripping away from its sense of self as Sija was unbound from herself and shattered to pieces.

Maddened fragments of herself, wrath, power, reaching out and scouring the six, grasping, holding, hoping. Desperate, ultimate despair written in the collapsing reality of her existence, hating them. Killing them, breaking and tearing and she cannot touch the corrupted. They cannot be Sija. She'd known that from the start.

She hated it.

Grasping, once, an end-

It was the expanse of space as it would be, infinite futures in infinite worlds built on everything that had once been hers but was no longer. She felt, as the cracks grew wide and the concept of Sija became the multiverse, as her thoughts that had spanned existence become dim, sputtering and dying in their silence, fear.

She hated fear.

She hated.

It saw the infinite realms made from its essence, and, in the last moment of its coherent thought, laid a trap in every single one.

The last pieces of itself to dim and die was its hatred, bound so tightly to a belief that the two of them were near the same- it would be whole once more.

Then, hatred alone- and then, nothing at all.