~ a short story
“The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Whoever wants to be born must destroy a world. The bird flies to god. The god is called Abraxas.”~ Herman Hesse, Demian (1919)
When Zobe was born, they birthed through actions of their own. Grown in an egg spawned from the invisible fabrics undergirding reality itself, Zobe pecked themselves out of unconsciousness and into void. An impossible chill swept the lightless, gridless realm where the shell fell away and a being screamed into existence. Like a raptor, Zobe destroyed one world to meet another.
Freed from their dark matter cage, the body of an able humanoid the color of sin and shape of glory emerged to mete the dawn.
Spirals and lashes and queer music the colour of joy spun out from Luster and into the surroundings. Light gave way to sight and confirmed four walls, a ceiling and a floor. They resided in a room the shape of a rose and the width of forever. Every stripe from Luster’s cape fluttered windows agape, each of the laces from Luster’s heeled boots tied into open doorways. They were thresholds of images and words, worlds from all over.
They realized they could go anywhere they liked. It was not long after that Luster looked into a mirror to see themselves for the first time.
Luster Zobe had horns and hair loomed from the milk of the void, diamond eyes and xeon forehead, vampire teeth and a raincoat of rainbows hemming into a skirt pointing to hell with daggers hanging off of its tendrils. Long legs of pure carbon, booted for striding and churning with the energy of the gods, moved them forward.
Luster Zobe hyperventilated in overexcitement at the prospects of the missions before them, craving the cacophonies to come.
The places through those windows and doors that Luster Zobe was drawn were strange. In all the best ways, they invited with every sensation. Sounds of talking, playing, singing. Sights of color. Smells of heat and splendor. Touches of sun and skin. Tastes of sin and glory.
Zobe summoned at the backs of jesters and jokers, clowns and killers.
Before a sea of names without faces, they could only see their smiles in the chaos to be.
Luster imbued their performances with boldness and humanity, which they spilled into audiences, patrons, victims rich and poor. The jesters grew underneath the guiding bolt of inspiration and mania, depression and world-weariness that this evanescent figure providenced.
But Luster Zobe’s work was not yet done with just the one cackler. This spirit on the shadow of every funny man throughout time and space, simultaneous and continuous forever, what with this blazing fast cryptid’s rapid transport from their nameless, tesseractive voidroom of doors and windows leading throughout the multiverse… as Zobe moved, they had to sprawl their power into the audience’s spirit too.
As the jest or lark or joke or lute landed, Luster Zobe, Man About Multiverse, wielded their flag of stars to buffet every person’s ego, silencing shadows alike for a spell, at last releasing the laughter, manifesting a not-so-silent stay to humanity’s extinction. ~