In the beginning, there was a child. She was born on a dawn proclaimed by the guardians as revolution. Placing this child atop see-through citadels of the humble war between thought and time, she grew. Some said at first glance that she was the reincarnation of the golden parallel, an existence that loomed over only as a remembrance of the morphic and hybrid dimensia of a subterranean joy left in the scrolls of the ancient prophets. Covered over in order for the controllers to marginalize the freebird nation of her patronage, the darkness became her friend, and light was only an affair during moments of catastrophic beauty. Her birth originating from the Ultimate Existence was not negated by the fact that she made friends with the lovers of forsaken holy hells and learned from the lepers of the exiled universe.
She followed the wave of obscurity until she crashed onto the shore by which stood the Truth Rebellion. As she walked toward the portal of this contraband reality, the opening towards re-creation, it seemed no more a journey, but a pause on doubtless continuity.
The hope had slipped in through the cracks and now, she saw. Humanity.
The revolution began when the crevices of eternity started fighting with one another, and that large sky bird decided to contaminate heaven. The renegades resurrected when the last moon kissed the purple daffodil too long to wonder why the sun was falling. The awakening had begun, as the earth felt aware and dissatisfied of its own complacency.
She had landed.