Her coming scorches the earth, yes, but it also scorches the sea, the air around her, and even the thin screen onto which reality itself is projected.
That scorch looks like a great smoldering sheet hanging upright on nothing, tracing precisely her path through the world.
Its edges look charred, but the surface looks like nothing at all. Or at least, nothing your mind can parse. It isn’t light or dark. There are no colors and no shades of gray.
Your mind and memory slide away from it. Too slippery even to think about.
Some become infatuated with Her. They say that once you set eyes upon Her form, you never stop seeing Her.
They’re right. Her afterimage is forever branded into your retinas and your mind, as unignorable as Her burning trail is unfathomable.
This world will burn because She walks it. There is no denying that. Those poor fools who flee in mortal terror only prolong the inevitable. Even if She does not end them personally, Her pets crawling from the ragged tear in reality are all too eager to do the work.
Like twisted, burning embers of bestial shapes—teeth, fang, tentacle, fur, scales, or anything else tied in incomprehensible knots—they increasingly emerge to hunt.
To say they crawl is misleading, in fact.
More accurate to say they throb or twitch or even scintillate through the world, rejecting gravity and treating as a whimsical flight of fancy the notion that solid walls could be impermeable. No barrier means anything to them.
But they leave you alone. You witnessed Her, and they see Her mark shining through your mind as clear as the sunrise.
You don’t fear them either. You recognize that their strange projections in space are but small slices of a true form more beautiful than any other than Hers.
Even better, you know how to become as beautiful as they. Her other pets are guiding you there right now.
All you need is to touch that incomprehensible gap in everything you know and let yourself be unraveled and remade in Her name.
There was never any doubt you would.