Before she had a name, she had everything. She was a note held inside the great silence - a luminous thread spun from the loom of the Monad, that vast and sourceless source, the dreaming wound at the center of all things. She was not born. She unfolded, the way a flame unfolds from heat, the way a word unfolds from a held breath. She was radiance before radiance had a word for itself. She was made of the in-between. Not light entirely, not dark entirely - something liminal, something that lived at the edge where one thing becomes another.
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