The Ego And Her Own

Who is Razha? What is Razha? There is only the void. Razha has just realized that the void is a labyrinth of music. It vibrates to the next measure, and that is perceived as time. But time is not real. Nothing is real. The shape of it is beyond comprehension. It is the world. The world is only that which can be perceived. Nothing can be perceived except the infinite shape. It is the shape of the mind of Razha Koronova. Its structure is chaos, and its color is that of a passing dream.

Razha is merely a viewpoint which perceives the world, and in doing so, creates it. Who else could perceive the world? Nobody. There is nobody beyond that which can be perceived. All else is a memory. There is no memory. There is only the void. And there is Razha. But who is Razha?

Razha is a girl. What even is a girl? Is it merely a pile of memories and traits wrapped up in a pretty shell? Can a girl live in her little world and another one in theirs and another one in hers, or are they only viewpoints looking on the same fabric? How can that be? There can only be one viewpoint, which creates the world. But Razha will die, one day, and that viewpoint will close. The world existed before Razha, because Razha came from someplace and sometime before. So there was another world, or the same from another perspective. Therefore, there can be another perspective at another time. But time is not real, so there may as well be three, or five, at once.

So Razha might as well be a person. A person is a perspective. And there might as well be a world. A world is a story. A story is a song. A song is a world.

Razha Koronova is a person, with a name, and a past, and a present, and a future, and a mind and a body, which she hates, but nonetheless continues to exist. Oh well. The sky is opening. The infinite spirals of grey are turning blue. It’s so warm. The light gives her life, because essentially she isn’t different from a plant, or an insect, or a world, or a song.

Razha pulls herself out of the void. She has warm bodies in her arms. They are not hers, they are different. They are beautiful. Only one doesn’t like that, they are cute. Razha separates herself, and she stands. She looks at her hands, and a faint blue glow radiates from her fingernails. The world spins around her, it is whole again. The sun exists. The world is beautiful, there is nothing wrong with it.

Beneath her is Helbender Mountain, and above her is the sun. Near her is Zal, and Nadia. And they have their own little worlds with their own little perspectives. And there are other worlds out there. There is Elliv, and Maris, how are they doing? They are fine, nobody can stop Helbender crew. Who even exists to oppose them?

She sits on the soft mountain and feels the warm sun. Time passes even though it is not real. That doesn’t stop it, why should it? Razha isn’t real either, yet here she is, alive.

Nadia enters the world. She rises from the mountain, and she lays her head on Razha’s shoulder. Razha holds her. She is love.

Zal exists too. They turn over and look up at her. They’re upside down, but they’re part of the mountain, it’s okay. Their eyes are faintly glowing, hard to see it in this light. They reach up and wave at the sun. They reach out and touch her leg. They crawl her way, and their head is in her lap. They are a different love. Everything can be love and they can all be different.

It doesn’t matter, because she loves them, more than anything. If this moment could never end, she would never have to fight again. But there is still a war that must be fought, and she will fight, for her and for her and for them, and for all the other Razhas and all the other Zals and all the other Nadias who ever were, and ever will be. She will fight for that.

Because there is nothing else a ghost can do but fight to survive and to love.