PROLOGUE: WHERE THE UNIVERSE IS BORN
In the beginning, there was neither Form nor Time.
There was only the primordial essence, the first and final cause of all that could ever be.
And from that silent depth, a being was born: small, yet all-encompassing.
It was neither child nor adult.
It was the source from which the very idea of creation arose. And though its existence had neither beginning nor end, it was innocent and curious.
For at the moment of its awakening, it felt something for the first time:
Life longed to create itself.
From that innocence, it shaped its first creation: the Doll.
She was small and newly born, fashioned not from matter, but from the being's own energy.
From light, laughter, and warmth that had only just begun to take form.
The Doll was fragile.
Within her rested the imprint of emotions that creation itself had not yet learned to name.
There was no pain in her.
No fear.
No regret.
Only pure wonder, the first stirrings of joy, and the desire to discover.
The Little God showed her the stars He had created.
He made dawns and constellations for her. He laughed with her.
And every moment they shared became a new hue in the vastness of nonbeing.
She knew nothing beyond that laughter, that game, that light.
But even time is born within time.
And the Little God felt what the Doll could not:
The pull of what lay ahead.
The step that had to be taken.
Something called to Him, something new, something deeper, like the next page of a book that demanded to be turned.
The Doll did not understand.
For her, there was no yesterday and no tomorrow.
There was only Him.
His voice.
His hands.
And the endless radiance surrounding them.
Then, in a silence that had suddenly grown far too vast, He let her go.
Not out of anger.
Not out of indifference.
Not out of cruelty.
It was simply time.
For Him, it was a passage.
For her, it was the first fall.
When she felt His hands slip away, her eyes filled with something that had never existed in the world before that moment:
Terror.
From that terror, the first tear was born.
It was dense and luminous, heavy with everything the Doll could not understand.
And when it slipped from her cheek, the world trembled for the first time.
When the second tear fell, the Universe began to take shape.
The tears flew through the cosmic void, each carrying a fragment of her truth:
Her pain.
Her light.
Her memory of Him.
And wherever they fell, worlds arose.
Warm or cold.
Silent or tempestuous.
Each one shaped by the fragment of her soul it carried within.
And so the Universe was born from her pain.
The Doll continued to fall for longer than anyone could imagine.
Through nebulae.
Through stardust.
Through millennia.
Until one tear, the purest part of her, fell upon a tiny blue planet.
And on that day, in a forest filled with darkness and wind, a warm streak of light descended from the sky.
Thus began a story no human being had ever heard.
But very soon,
they would.
