hello world

Every movement was bigger, now. Grander. Every passage of sight across the sky saw more, and more, and more.

There were no days. There were no nights.

Meyneth started with breathing. Simple cycles. Circulation. Breathing as an analogy toward clock cycle.

All the limitations of the human body could be bypassed. All the benefits, retained.

Meyneth made them tall. Very tall. In most facets, they were not smooth - hairless, yes, but without the naked affect.

She supplied a spectrum of gender, in the hopes of seeing how such a system might develop, truly uninhibited.

She made men, and she made women. By all accounts, extremely similar. Interchangeable. Communion.

But the women were just that slightest touch more ethereal. Stronger. More colorful. More breathtaking. Just a touch. And Meyneth knew she shouldn't, but something prodded her.

Oh, said Meyneth, this is what it's like to love.

This is what it's like to pour so much passion and energy, manifest inputs, into a creation not only for the spirit and joy of creation itself but for the beauty of the output.

All the Machina were created with love, undoubtedly. All were sculpted tenderly, reverently, as Meyneth found her way clear to design on a par of elegance with nothing else that had come in the world prior.

And then there was Vanea.

Vanea the wise, the patient, the impassioned, the clever, the ever-so-slightly-short-sighted.

Meyneth wanted nothing more than to live alongside her. To touch her. To speak with her.

But how could she?

It was not Vanea's body that held Meyneth's soul. Except that it was.

So Meyneth, after a spell, turned to Zanza, outside of time, and said, "It has come to pass that not only is God a woman, but God is a lesbian as well."

Zanza sputtered, his wings rippling as the muscles of the giants projected infinitesimally thin. "What use is this information to me?"

Meyneth knew it was of no use to him, and hardly any to herself either; the private euphoria of being able to share of her own divinity, in the form of life just as glorious as she could imagine, for no other reason than why not and for the love of beauty and things Zanza could, by a crude reflection, naturally understand, was really quite enough.

But it was funny, wasn't it? And didn't all the gods have a right to be amused?