Our Mother created the Macrocosmos, the cornucopia of paradoxes. It was perfect yet unstable. Collapsing yet steadfast. It was the embodiment of Her love. And we welcomed it and inhabited it, for the act of embracing it was the only way we could return it.
We all brought our belongings with us and enveloped them with our Mother's love. We roamed the Macrocosmos, its shape conforming to our will, our names traversing all of its corners.
Our names eventually returned to us as echoes. They were our daughters and we loved them dearly. And our echoes had echoes and their echoes had echoes. Us and our daughters lived in a symphony of endless infinite love.
Like us, our daughters developed their own belongingness and we watched over them. Just like our Mother, we gave them all of our love and let them go on their own. It was full of delight yet filled with sorrow. It felt familiar, yet strange. It was the embodiment of our love, and the echo of the love of our Mother. And it continued to echo. For our daughters. For our Mother. For us. For Anastasia.