From the depths of the world, the palest of flowers bloomed.
Petals glistened under the light; the flower of the lake arose, and thus, Love was made.
She opened her eyes, innocent and perfect. She was beauty incarnate, something nothing could tarnish.
Those irises of hers, pink as the dawning sky, containing all the knowledge of the world. A form still unknown, but ever so ethereal. Love let out a call, and the world responded.
The beasts responded. They warmed Love, fed her, and surrounded her, welcoming their Mother. The divine ones kneeled, for she was the veil holding them together.
Love was adorned with pearls and flowers, for she was a Bride, a Wife, a Mother, Sister and a Daughter. Her laughter made new kin, and her touch made colors brighten to welcome her. All living things cheered for the creation of the great one.
She loved and was loved; centuries flew by as the world proceeded in a never-ending march. A paradise for the alien, the artificial oddities of an unknown world.
Then, mankind came.
Flesh, skin, organs. Fragile lives, descendants of apes. Wielding rocks and plucking berries. Ripped from their world by a simple mistake. First they were few, then they were many. Love's heart was stolen by such a fragile existence. A deep, abiding marriage of the soul.
Love watched them from afar, observing and learning. She assumed forms similar to them and studied the essence that incarnates humanity, with the desire to be human too. A woman in flesh and bones.
Yet, women bled, suffered, and carried their kin in their flesh. She could not. Never bleed, never blossom, never suffer. An empty womb, the ethereal imitation of what is human. Why must she be different? Was she flawed?
What is a Mother with children not born of her flesh? What is a Sister who bears no family? What is a daughter that was made, not born? What is a Bride who cannot unite with her Groom?
Mankind worshipped her, even in her artificial anomaly. They called her Philia, the Saintess. A name, an identity, a form. They sculpted her and prayed for her. Thus, she was reborn.
The other ones kept her hidden. They'd say she was fragile, a flower to nurture in glass. War mourned with her, Justice needed her, and Death did not understand her. They feared the unknown, and Philia became their muse.
She served humanity, becoming the beacon of their hopes. They founded a town, Hoofstad, in her name. The town of love, the beginning of civilisation. Philia witnessed its birth, its evolution, and its end, as if it all passed in seconds.
Humanity was her deepest love, something Philia could never let go of, no matter the passage of time. Their younglings, so soft and innocent. Their elders, so full of knowledge. The women, the men, and those who were neither. Each one of them was loved from the bottom of her heart. She needed them, even if she tore herself apart to be one of them.
Then, the greatest happiness, a small bundle of joy. A human boy, innocent, orphaned. Nunca, child of Love and Humour. Her kin, even if not truly hers in flesh, he'd been hers in name. His smile, his soft hands, his voice calling for Mother. He was the perfect piece in the gaping hole of her heart, alongside the divine ones and humanity.
The second piece of happiness, her other half. Thought itself, rational, unfeeling, and unloved. An infatuation so strong that he began feeling that he yearned for her. He was her brain; she was his heart. Fengàri, born a man in woman's flesh. Forever a man to her, forever lost.
Humanity's worship crumbled, as the divine ones did not understand the full extent of what is human. Mistake upon mistake… loss and misunderstanding, until mankind roared in rebellion against the rule of the divine ones.
Philia's marriage was broken, her home was tarnished, and her heart was ripped in pieces. The city of beginnings was divided, and the divine ones were cast away, exiled for the sins they did not comprehend, for they'd been assigned these roles when they'd been just simple, alien creatures.
And then, clad in putrid robes, Stupor came. Y'liad Elyion, the feared blade of Bittersteel. For his quest for stillness, most of humankind perished. Towns destroyed, souls collected. The blame fell on the divine ones for Stupor's mistakes. It was war for the loss of innocent flesh.
They formed the fingers of a hand, the celestial bodies of the sky. They swore protection, revenge, and independence from what they once blindly created.
Humans reunited under one name so they could purge those they deemed evil and sinful. A war that would last for eons. The betrayal of Death, who chose to become their leader.
Philia witnessed the carnage of thousands, human and divine, lost because of a senseless search for justice. In this conflict, her cherished pieces of happiness vanished. A grieving mother, a son who died to protect her. An empty home, a boy that will laugh no more. The grief is all-consuming, a never-ending pit.
The second piece of happiness, her soulmate driven to madness by humanity's betrayal. The greater Thought sealed him away from the pain and from his beloved until he lost every piece of himself. A Bride left grieving at her altar, without any grave to kneel by. That was perhaps the most painful thing, to be left as a Widow with no child to call her own. A nameless woman.
The war ceased when there was no more blood left to spill. When the divine ones vanished into the depths of the world and became like old legends of the past. Philia was the only one left to mourn. She was no longer loved, no longer a Goddess, no longer anything. She could only cry to an infinite, deaf void.
She travels through the labyrinth, forgotten and abandoned. A shadow of herself, waiting for the day until there will be peace and unity anew. She wanders and weeps, and those tears drip into an ocean of sorrow. Until she ascends once more, as the other divine ones awaken from their slumber.
Left with no choice, she fell into an eternal sleep… until the Rose blooms and awakens her once more.
Glory to the forgotten Love of this world. May she hear this forgotten Ode. May her tears heal the wounds of her heart.
