Where to start?
Hm, right. Only one thought spinning in my head now. Only one worth... telling about myself.
But as soon as the thought appears, silence follows. Silence not because I don't know what I want, no. Silence because I don't know who I am.
Though... maybe both. Life was never constant. People are inconstant.
The whole world is inconstant.
And gods? What about those who call themselves gods?
Immortals.
A word that sounds like a promise. No, like an oath, no... like a childish "never-never-never."
Something that will never disappear, even if everything does. And yet my answer is "No."
Wait. You mean even those above life and death, whose name once caused trembling just by utterance, are inconstant too?
I'd say: "Yes. No one was ever constant." Not them, not me, not you.
Welcome back to my abode of forgotten desires. I was thinking where to start. And, annoyingly, started with this.
Introducing my personality.
In such cases, it seems customary to start with the name. Fine, my name is Enua.
Yes, strange, I know.
In katakana, it means nothing. Just sounds "エヌア."
E.
Nu.
A.
Emptiness disguised as a name. But write it in kanji, and the structure changes.
炎 — flame.
永 — eternity.
亜 — light admixture of otherness.
Together: "eternal flame with a touch of foreignness."
Amusing. Usually I don't think about my name, gods don't need it. A name isn't decoration or toy. A name is a hook in memory, to catch, so not forgotten even after the last breath.
A higher being needs no hooks. It's etched in the heart from birth. Then... why do I have a name? Shouldn't they know me without it? Remember without it?
Do they remember? Is there anyone left who remembers?
Welcome to a world where, by legends, humanity has already vanished.
My mother gave me the name. The one who created me. The one who abandoned me in the same hour.
Fair? Don't know. Probably, or maybe not.
In the end, not for me to decide what's fair.
A world where everyone decides for themselves. A world where everyone has their own truth.
This is a story of how a soul gained a shell. A shell without place. Without time. Without matter.
The shell wandered, looked around. Right, left, forward, back. Until... it stopped, sat down from despair. From what it saw.
Because if you see no path, you see no life. And if no life, no meaning.
No one knows how long it sat in this empty white nothing. No one but it. Until one moment it decided: let me not be alone.
Let.
Because loneliness is an enemy, and in the long run, no one defeated it. It waved a hand, said "Be," and it appeared.
Life, but not life, matter. The same empty shell.
Why?
The question asked so often that one day the question... answered: "If you want to create something like yourself, create yourself."
Create myself? It looked at itself, but... did it look? Ran hands over face and realized: no eyes. To see beauty, need to look through beauty.
It created eyes and saw itself for the first time. Then created form, living, real. What can be called "I."
Thus being appeared.
Not thing.
Not subject.
Being.
Only understanding itself can one understand everything else.
Can't paint a landscape without knowing it.
When the shell, no, already "I" understood this, then said "Be."
And world appeared, space appeared. Time appeared, but... it was little. Landscape empty without life in it. Loneliness lasts until someone like you appears nearby.
Creating life proved harder. Not something done with a word. Something requiring mind, soul.
Day passed.
Second passed.
Third approached.
And finally, in persistence of desire, it succeeded.
On the third day, life appeared.