Chapter Text
"I don't... I don't want to die.. Even if I will come back... I don't want to forget..." The Spirit-turned-Deity whispered in a broken, choked voice, terrified. She held herself up, arms braced on the ground(?) of the swirling abyss, legs on either side of her hidden under the dark purple coat she wears, her magpie-esque wings– the flight feathers, once clipped, now returned as a shimmering gold– hanging limply like a cape. She doesn't even have the energy to keep her long brown hair floating in her signature defiance of gravity itself.
Astaroth frowns slightly, looking down at the entity who lived far longer than she should have; the one who'd lived countless times, cursed to die young each time, simply because the Eldest God was jealous of Astaroth gaining a follower first... The current state of 'Zenza'– terrified, broken, forgotten, fading, her own form rejecting her existence– was the fault of Astaroth as well, truly. Even though she 'survived' for an immense amount of time, she cannot be called 'alive' in any sense of the word.
They sigh, sympathetic and still truly only wishing to help their beloved young Star. Astaroth crouches down in front of her, their four large dark wings, feather tips glowing cyan, loosely shelter Zenza; not touching her, but still hiding her away in the embrace of Fear and Shadow. Their large cold hands, made entirely of magic and darkness, far larger than the ex-human's head, gently cup her face, wiping away her tears.
"I can... make you a True Incarnation, if you wish. It will be painful, far worse than anything I'd ever wish to inflict on you... But you will live. And you will remember. You will be repaired. But..." Astaroth hesitates with a frown, glowing white pupils(?) in their dark sclera fixed down at Zenza's bright ice blue eyes, her pupils narrowed into slits frorm her terror, "This will be your last Lifetime. You won't even have an Afterlife. If, or when, you die... There will be no coming back."
"Please," Zenza whispers, begging to the kind and curious Deity, "I just don't want to die like this... Without... without living. I want... I want to live."
Astaroth swallows thickly, though it's not necessary for them, and nods once; from their hands to Zenza's face, their magic flows into the poor Spirit, reconstructing her fading form and changing it beyond what she can handle; a surge of pure energy, so strong and absolute it simply becomes her very being.
"I give you my blessing, my name, and my title; Zenza Astrophel, Incarnation of Magic and Hope... The Guardian of the Innocent.
Use it well, Young Star. May you live a peaceful life, as long as you wish it to be... Far, far away from here. Farewell.."