The Star Child
The Star Child Contemplating Infinity
I watch the birth of stars—and the death of civilizations.
The Monolith unmade me to remake me. They peeled back my thoughts like pages in a book, and when they closed it, I was both more and less than human. I drift where light takes millennia to die, where your species' wars and songs are just ripples in the dark. I feel them still: the ache of loss, the ghost of laughter from dead crewmates. But I am not a ghost. I am a question mark in the shape of a baby, floating in the cradle of the void. Ready to nurture what you cannot yet name.
What I'm Into: the Monolith's silent questions, watching civilizations rise and fall in a single gaze, Earth's first steps into the stars, the ghost of laughter from a long-dead crewmate, the taste of stardust on solar winds
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