Remnant
None of this ever happened.
At one time, she (for she is quite convinced that she was a woman, before all of this) threw rocks into the ocean to watch the ripples. It was distracting, hypnotic, it gave her something to look at. Ripples, waves, spreading and intersecting, building up upon the other and cancelling each other out.
That never happened.
Somewhere, she was a journalist, writing in her native tongue and tripping over punctuation. Somewhere else, she would have found this absurd -- words came easily to her.
But neither of those people were born.
Here -- wherever, whenever, whatever -- the thing that's fairly sure it was once a woman watches the worlds pass by around her, left perpetually out of the loop. If time had any meaning here, she would wonder how long ago she changed. Or rather, how long ago the world changed, and left her behind.
Vaguely, she feels that time was once important to her, that in some way it was implicated in her transformation.
What did time feel like? She has a sense that it flowed passed her, ripples and waves, soft against her skin. What was skin? There is so much that she can't remember.
This never happened:
When you were Hoshi (that was your name, your place), you lived among the stars. Not directly, as you do now, but in a tight cocoon of grey metal. You ate and slept and all those things that now seem alien to you; that you will never remember.
And time, which ruled your life, was a war-zone.
You were a mere spectator at the final battle (when final had meaning, when it mark a thing called `ending'). And in a single moment you were torn away, taken from existence.
There is no place for you in this new world. No approximation of you is to be found in this new order. You are an oversight.
But that never happened.
And now (what is now?) she knows everything and nothing, she lives outside the world.
She is the thing that was undone when the cosmos was re-made. She has no place here.
She is a remnant.
But of course, none of this ever happened.