The burn of creation is never painless. Eons gathered into one being, borrowed particles, elements, energy, time, all collected into one in a split second to create an unfortunate fault in the system. Delicate timelines and dimensions clashing, events that weren't supposed to occur, striking icy cold, red hot, too much and too little, all at once.
Pain.
Suffering, loss, despair, fear, the consequence of centuries spent meddling with forces that should have stayed beyond control of any creature. Playing god never ends well. The lull of comfort in chaos far too imbalanced to last, far too unstable to lead to an end. It was foolish, truly, to think that anything that deviated from the planned path would end well. It never ends well.
A flash, and suddenly, death leads to new life, a new form, a new creation that wasn't supposed to exist yet. Sharp breath inhaled into borrowed lungs, a borrowed body, a body that wouldn't, shouldn't, last for long; twisted corruption thread into a soul that had never experienced life, yet had experienced so much. The rotten fruit of sinful labor, born through the mirage of righteous judgment, looked out into a covered clearing she could not recognize, eyes still adjusting to the lack of light under the unruly canopy. The air seared her lungs, the rustling of the wildlife deafening to a reformed body far too sensitive to take in the constant flow beration of information details from the world.
The scream that left her throat couldn't be helped, far too overwhelmed much too soon as her body jumped into action, blood coursing through veins that had gone still. Crippling, mind breaking, and just as she had begun to perceive the world around her, darkness cast over, rendering her unconscious on the quilted grass of the forest floor. Old blood worked its best, desperately helping the grip for life. It seemed that the world wanted her as dead as the void she had come from, but even so, she refused to die.
Another ripple in the fabric, away from the true order. Merciless fate, refusing to kill off what should have been left to rip and fall apart, allows her to survive the night into the dew reflecting the morning sun. This time, when she wakes up, she can manage more. Small movements are all she can take as she makes her way to the bottom of a tree, propping herself up against it. The day passes, nightfall providing a much needed respite from the blinding light of the sun, double moons gently blanketing her surroundings. Momentary peace.
Nameless, clueless, and lost, the newly formed replica observed her surroundings, unsure of what laid ahead.
A microcosm away, a yell laced with desperation and rage rang out in an empty room.