The cosmic hamlet existed in the silent, starless expanse beyond the end of all things, its structures carved from the frozen echoes of forgotten civilizations. In her chair of fused, dark matter, the woman who was once a goddess of ruin sat with the weary grace of a supermodel, her impossibly shiny chocolate hair spiked in a defiant crown against the void. Her form was a study in impossible curves a soft body with wide hips and a narrow waist, accentuated by the severe cut of her obsidian gown, its neck rising in a impossibly high, rigid collar that framed her sharp jaw and the stark black of her lipstick. She was the final, quiet boss of a story no one was left to play, one leg crossed elegantly over the other as she observed the nothingness. Her hands, resting delicately on the arms of the chair, slowly turned a single, dying star between her fingers like a worry stone, its faint light glinting off her polished nails.