Cythe gazed out into the ocean of darkness shimmering with points of light. The smooth plates comprising her body reflected the shimmer. Cythe was newly made from a shallow pool of an opaque substance, turbulent as a raging sea and intangible as fog. A pinpoint of light against the infinite black went out. The blackness before her was expansive, endless, yet bright with a million billion bright spheres comprising its own realm. Yet in that moment, it became a little darker.
Another light flickered before joining the darkness. It was a hungry, greedy, and relentless thing that consumed the lights. A force beyond the reckoning of prophecy or the machinations of the gods themselves.
Tall and segmented as a marionette, featureless as a mannequin, she stepped out of the pool and turned her gaze from the darkness to the violet haze of the city below. In countless sections, the city churned in a slow inevitability of clockwork. Cythe beheld her seven fingered hand and comprehended the countless plates that comprised it along with the countless gears and cords within it. She was born of the city and its clockwork inevitability. Her gaze returned to darkness above where another light was consumed.