Dare to Unravel the Universe

Nikki feels the familiar pull of her night fading as the first fingers of color paint the horizon. Fear and excitement intermingle as she anticipates this meeting. She chooses to gaze at the remaining twinkles of stars instead of the sunrise as a last attempt to hold on to the night. The ocean breeze brings the scent of decaying seaweed and salty brine. Like the emotions swirling inside her, the good mixes with the bad. When Rory arrives she plans to voice her anxiety about how she needs to change but fears the repercussions. If Rory can’t assuage her dread, she worries she will be stuck in this endless pattern.

She approaches.

Nikki can see her mind is already occupied. It is so hard to get her full attention, but for her, there is no one else. Dawn is blushing the eastern sky, as Nikki darkens. She’s going to tell her. She wants to voice this burgeoning understanding, this terrifying question of her intrinsic value and its potential cosmic cost. Is she doomed to forever seek out Rory and never get the validation she needs and deserves? Everyone praises her, while Nikki is an afterthought. A reflection that has lost the brilliance and color of the original. Without Rory, she is nothingness. Nikki is darkness.

She gathers what remains of herself, the velvety depth of eternal intensity (How can she ever feel lesser than with all of that intensity?), and plans her words for when Rory arrives. This time she will respond with more than just a silent yielding.

“Beautiful night, Nikks,” she says while gazing up at the same stars.

“Thank you,” she replies, blushing at the compliment. Nikki takes a deep breath to ask if they can talk when Rory interrupts her.

“Look at that,” she exclaims, pointing to the bioluminescent light lingering on the surface of the water. “I love it!”

There’s a subtle shift in the silent hum of the night, a gathering of the cool, pre-dawn air. Nikki opens and closes her mouth, struggling to broach the topic she so desires to discuss. She’s always chased Rory seeking her full attention and never fully receiving it. Not for long anyway. It’s just recently come to her, that maybe she’s meant for more than that in life. Not just living in her shadow, in anyone’s shadow, but to be her own entity who’s important in her own right. She’ll always love Rory, but she can do so without chasing her. She’s always loved her from afar and realized that’s all she needs. She longs for the chase to cease.

But the words catch. The sheer enormity of the question, the fear of the answer, and the lifetime of unspoken yearning for Aurora's attention create an insurmountable barrier. How can she voice a fear so fundamental to their shared existence? How can she express a desire for self-acceptance that feels like a potential betrayal of the universe's rhythm?

Instead, only a faint sigh escapes her, a subtle cooling of the air that Rory, preoccupied with the burgeoning day, doesn't even notice. Nikki watches as Rory’s attention flits to the newly awakened world – the shimmering dew, the distant birdsong, the promise of the rising sun.

Nikki remains silent, the unvoiced fear is a heavy weight in her fading essence. She allows herself to recede, the starlight dimming as Aurora's light strengthens. The new understanding – the potential for her own intrinsic value – remains locked within her, a secret and a burden. The moment passes, the cycle continues, and she is left with the unspoken fear that her self-discovery might unravel the very fabric of their shared cosmos.

This silence speaks volumes about the difficulty of confronting deeply ingrained beliefs and the vulnerability of seeking self-acceptance, especially when it feels like it could disrupt the established order. Is her truth to herself more or less important than maintaining the status quo that has always been?

As dawn brightens, her chance to discuss her desires diminishes. Nikki feels it’s now or never and tries again to speak.

“Rory, I’ve something I want to talk to you about,” she utters as her heart pounds and her stomach flutters.

“I know, Nyx,” Aurora responds. “I love you for what you are, but without me you are nothing.” Or at least that is what she imagines she will say.

“Tell me, my dearest,” is her actual reply. Nikki senses a hint of sorrow.

“I,” she begins. “I want to find a way…” For a moment, she can’t think of any words.

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” she tries again, “about my value. Like just me on my own.”

“Do you think I don’t value you?” Rory asks, “You’re my dearest friend.” Relief floods Nikki as she is about to reply.

“Well, one of many of course,” Rory corrects. “I have many dear friends. You are one of the dearest.” Nikki already knew this, but this threw her for a loop. She was reveling in the high of the compliment only to be dunked in the reality of shame she always dwelled in. Once again, silence won.

“I’m so glad we talked, dear Nikki,” Rory said. “I enjoy these moments with you no matter how brief.” She was gone–just like that. No dismissal. No parting words. Dusk would come too soon, and Nyx was already dreading it. She had to ask Aurora what would happen if she stopped chasing her and enjoyed her own quiet brilliance instead. Though she would be nothing without her, she didn’t need to chase Aurora to shine on her own. It’s that she’s only just realizing that she never did, or at least that’s what she thinks.

Only Aurora knows the truth. Every dawn, Nyx will try again to assert her place without altering cosmic order. Can she embrace her own value without fearing the unraveling of everything she knows?

The answer is no. Nyx’s eternal struggle is part of the weaving of the universe and must continue in order to maintain it. Any unraveling cannot be rewoven and will result in chaos. It will cause the end of the world, and the stars, and the galaxies, and everything.

So Aurora continues to placate Nyx and lead her in this weave on the never ending loom though it breaks her heart to do so.