#yes it sounds like amara lore! i guess that's why i like her--because I wrote her backstory 2 and a half years before she showed up

[jessicareaper]

(Here it is: the creation story I wrote during s8. It makes absolutely no sense at all now, but I’d like to think it’s still compelling.)

In the beginning—before the beginning, really, there was—well, “nothing” doesn’t begin to cover it. Humans were born into a universe of such riotous Something that they have no concept of what true Nothing is. But that’s what there was.

There was God, and there was Me.

There was no time—that came later. After We invented “later,” of course. In the beginning, We were infinite. In the time before numbers, We were one, and two, and many. We flexed and coiled and merged and folded in the eternity of Our being.

But God was not satisfied with the infinite dance. So God reached into Nothing, and made something.

Those first attempts were weak, brittle, and soon melted back into Nothing. They could not hold time in their beings, or life. “It is pointless,” I told God. “There is You, and there is Me. You cannot make Something out of Nothing.” I thought, then, the infinite dance could continue—that We were rid of this folly—but then, for the first time, God did something I did not expect.

God swept together Nothing, and into it, poured Infinity.

The change was immediate; God curled inward, frayed at edges that weren’t there before. But before God spread creations that danced and twisted, that curled around their maker and hummed the familiar voice of the endless.

God called them Leviathan, and for them, God built the universe. They swept over the blackness of space; they danced among the stars planted for them; they filled the planets with their humming.

I hated them.

They danced like God used to, but their dance was empty of love, and their humming was like an echo of the Day I had seen when God gave up Infinity—the Reaping Day when God ceased to be.

They had taken God’s Infinity. They had taken the dance from us. And for that, I yearned for the day of their destruction.

And soon enough, it was upon us, for soon enough, their humming turned sinister. “Why,” We heard them wonder, “do we bow to a Maker inferior to us? Why do we depend on a creature with an end? Why do live as God’s pets in their creation, when we can forge our own?”

Filled with terrible purpose, the Leviathan became destructive. They ripped apart stars, reforged the sky into vortexes that ate at the universe God had sculpted for them.

They tried, then, to rip God apart as well—and they might have succeeded, had I not stepped in. The Leviathan were powerful, but I was, even then, very old.

I offered to destroy the rogue creations, once and for all, but God refused. “They are my children,” God told me. “And more, they are a part of me. I cannot see them destroyed.” So instead, God built a new home for them, wrapped in Nothingness and sealed with another piece of God, ripped free by the Leviathan attack. I placed the Leviathan inside, and shut the door.

And then, there was God, and there was Me.

But God’s hunger and grief soon won out again, and God set to creating new children. “Remember,” I said, curling around God’s fraying edges, “Remember how your last children turned against you. Abandon this folly, and dance with me instead.”

But God only said, “I know what was missing last time. This time, they will be Creation. This time, they will not destroy my work.” And so God took pieces of the torn stars and poured into them pure Creation.

"Angels," God called them. "My perfect, obedient children," God called them. And they were. So still, so wondrous, so different from the humming, dancing Leviathan. But God was different, too; the shine from within was gone, and with it, the wide-eyed joy at the shaping of the universe. Both, it seemed, belonged to the Angels now.

By then, the universe was so full of Something—so full of the baubles and toys God had given God’s everything to. But on the edges, past all stars, past all blackness and silence of space, there was still Nothing. That was where I lived, in the early days just after God created days. It was…home, if you will. There, we had danced. There, we were one, and two, and many. There, God had had no edges, no Reaping Day.

I admit it, after so long, I had begun to understand how God could rip themself apart to create beings that were only poor reflections of everything they used to belong to. I spent my time in the Nothing, but whenever I wandered the universe God had created and the Angels now maintained, I felt…old. And alone.

I did not tell God my plans. I simply took a bit of the blackness of space, a bit of Creation, and wrapped it gently around a core of Nothingness. These children would know their home. They would know their origin.

I had but one at first, and she followed Me wherever I went. We spent much of our time in the Nothingness, but when I ventured into God’s universe, she followed me there, too. She was curious, I could tell, but the Angels regarded her with fear and disgust. Especially Michael and Lucifer. Though they never dared to voice their emotions when they felt Me near, I knew the way God’s eldest and most powerful angels sneered together at My creation.

It was no matter. Great and powerful though they may have thought they were, I saw the days of their Reapings. They would turn against each other, and then, like the crashing of two waves in the open sea, they would be gone.

In the meantime, they tended God’s universe under the watchful eye of their creator. God loved the Angels, I knew. But when I drew God into a dance, I still felt the jagged edges from the Leviathan’s attack, and felt the lingering grief. I felt the hunger returning, millenium by millenium.

When God approached the prison we had shut the Leviathan into, I finally intervened, shadowed by My eldest. ”If you open this door, you will be destroyed,” I pleaded. “You have your Angels. Rest and be content.”

But God would not be moved. “They don’t understand the dance. Not the way my First did.” And God reached out to open the door.

In that moment, my eldest came forward and said, “Those children are lost. You can create new children, and teach them the dance.”

"But I am finite," God said. "How can I give them the dance with no Infinity left to give?"

I admit it, I almost turned away. My oldest friend, trapped in this loop of self-destruction, trying, once again, to make shadows flesh? But I saw the hunger in God’s eyes, a hunger that, for all My warnings, I could not turn aside or sate. “Let me help,” I said with a sigh.

And so together, we danced one last time. Into the dance God poured Love. As I gathered it up, God withered, spent and satisfied. I watched God, finite, small, and I looked at the last shining piece of God, curled in My hands. “Come back to me,” I pleaded, and with that, I formed Humans.

“Is it finished?” I asked, when it was done. “Are you content?”

“Yes,” God said. And then God retreated, cradling the Humans in Their cracked hands.

God placed them on a little planet, bursting with life. But then, almost as soon as they had settled there, the Humans grew old, and I felt their Reaping Days approaching. Ah, I realized with a bitter smile. At least some part of You listens to Me.

God, by then, was scarce in the Universe, and now without Love, God was almost unrecognizable. God resurfaced long enough to throw Lucifer into Hell, and to throw the Humans into the wilderness, and each time, I watched, and saw God’s Reaping Day growing closer.

But there was no time to dwell on it, because Humans were growing and multiplying and dying and changing in a way that the Leviathans and the Angels never had.

All their changing was for nought in the end. At the Reaping, they always come back to Me.

Now, my eldest grows old as well, and My children, My Reapers, are as numerous as the stars that God knit together for the Leviathans. But though they grow old, My children do not rest, because there is work to be done. God has scattered, piece by piece, like grain in the wind, but I am here to gather God back.

And one day, after the final Reaping, when God is whole again, We will continue Our dance once more.