She was the colour of summer – gerbera orange and firefly yellow. She was every thing that exuded warmth and tenderness. Like a diamond, she was tough and impenetrable yet she shone, inarguably, the brightest in all of the universe. Her enrapturing light professed of hope and the possibility of wildest dreams. Every body was a yearning moth, flocking to her as if from a dark-lit room. She was passionate, as like embarking embers trying to rekindle their romance with flames. No one could deny her of her beauty. No one could deny her their life.
For she was the foundation of all that was breathing, all that was living, all that was in existence. Every one and every thing looked up to her. They craved her eternal attention. And she reliably supplied it. Even those deemed as nothing, she harboured them and taught them that they were some thing. She sheltered the refugees under her gentle yet sturdy wings. She cradled them and coddled them each with her imperishable flame. All until it was time to let go. And let go, she had to, much to her chagrin.
That was beyond her control. When it was the final moment for one to leave, that was it. There was nothing that she could do, though she ardently wanted to. She knew that all things were ephemeral. To be near immortal was to learn that Time was relentless. Time took what she had nurtured. One would say that Time was her enemy, but she had no fiends. Never would one be any thing less than family to her. Never would one even dream that. They were all her family, though not all immediate. Her direct relations, they were prominent but not incredibly more so.
They reigned in the other parallel, her children. She may be perpetually incandescent, but still, she must rest, as all should. So, she entrusted her millions of benevolent children to govern this realm. To nourish those here like she does in the other. And to accommodate them, she created a ghost of herself to stay awake too. The doppelgänger was luminous, a warm colour of winter – mercurial silver. It was not as bright as she was but it made do. It looked after all that were now asleep in its blazing white light. And it delighted in the antics of the wayward children.
Her legion of children tried to be like her. The mirror sons and crystal daughters tried to shine as brightly as she did. They too wanted to exude the warmth and joyous light of like their mother. They sparkled and gleamed with all of their might, hoping to at least shine an iota of what their mother did. For all of their life, they practised and rehearsed until their mimicries and imitations were almost flawless. Their iridescent glimmers would never compare to that of their mother's but it was enough. It was what the children owed to her. It was what the children were born to do.
Like all else, her children were ephemeral. Preceding their last breath, the sons and daughters of fiery light convulsed. The epileptic children would sporadically gasp and heave for more fuel to breathe in as like fish on dry land. But the fuel would not come. It could not come. So, the asphyxiated children imploded, shattering their protective ribcage. But it was all right. Because this was the point of each child's paramount shine. This was their state of nirvana. They had finally reached what they had been attempting their whole life. A glorious shine, fit for a queen. Fit for their queen.
After which, their eyes drooped like closing blinds and they drifted in to a comatose sleep. And though their ultimate radiance only lasted for a while, it was well worth it, the children knew, more than well worth it. In the time of their oblivion, the doppelgänger would look onward to ensure a safe passing. To ensure that their ending dreams were the most pleasant of all. The evanescent children would sleep until all that was left was ink. And in their last moment, they would whisper one utterance of noise, “perfect.”
And then new children would be birthed. New children to brave the rewarding cycle. When she broke above the horizon, some times she would catch a glimpse of the dimming sparks of her children slinking back to their empire. She would wave to them with her dancing flares for she was the sun and her children were the stars. And may be one day she would catch her mirror reflection that was the moon and thank it for caring for her beloved children where she could not. Each day, when she laid to rest for the night, she would know that all was well. All is well.