Across Galaxies

My people have argued for years about if we are gods or simply bookkeepers. Our minds can reach across galaxies to watch the tales of other worlds play out. We write them down and archive them in unbelievably vast libraries that have been developed over eons of watching and recording. I believe we are the latter. I have to, for if we are gods, we are cruel ones. We observe safely from our planet that has never documented a war of our own and we have watched atrocities be committed, watched genocides and slavery and done nothing but put it to paper. We have the power to stop it. We can manipulate the stories we watch but we don’t. It is forbidden. We are told to trust in the prophecies - short pieces of guidance passed down to each planet upon its first observance. Instead, we are to stay neutral, watch, and write. Is it so bad that I could not?
I stared up at the night sky, the stars spanning the spread with no lights to dim them and no clouds to block them. One could see everything here and the world was loud with its natural noises, the nearest street being leagues away. This had been the destination of my long journey, to feel the natural rhythms of the world spinning around me. My people called this the Opposite Realm, but I knew otherwise. This was not opposite, but rather the natural state, what entropy would eventually give over to, if not for the constant fight against it. I could just barely discern the constellations I had grown up with here. They blended with so many other stars, entire galaxies coming together in purple and green streaks across the sky. I did not stir; I did not disturb the field of tall grasses that washed over me, reflecting the sky’s own purples and blues and greens in its coloration. There was a reason they called it the living night sky. They say if you could soar above it all, the stars and galaxies would be reflected back in the plants. I envisioned myself a small, barely discernible speck in the span of the field. I must have camouflaged pretty well. With my skin a swirling mix of blues and purples and spotted with freckles that shifted to match the constellations, long violet hair, and blue eyes, I myself appeared a piece of night sky.
My eyes adjusted to the dark and I scanned across the horizon for a branch of galaxy that felt right. I latched to the arm of a spiral galaxy, reaching for an inhabited planet which I then used to focus my vision. It was then that she caught my eyes. She was sagging against her binds, gold razor wires that spiraled up each of her limbs to the main joint, as a male whipped her with a golden lance. It struck me that she did not cry out, did not fight it or even move. She had clearly been in captivity for months- each rib jutted separately from under her skin- but her hair still shone, hanging limply around silver shoulders, hiding her face. A golden collar flashed around her neck, braided metal that lay flush against her skin, clearly very solid but able to flow with the movement of her neck. Beyond the pink blood that fell from her, it was the only color to her that I could see. My breathing hitched as another lash landed on her bare back, ripping deep through soft skin. She was vulnerable, weak, naked, dying, yet just for a moment I could see her as she was born to become and it took my breath away. It was an image that I knew would never stop haunting me. She was ghostly beautiful, all silver and black. A strong jawline and cheekbones filled in for what I had just seen, her skin smooth and unmarred, muscles rippling beneath it. Her eyes had no pupil or iris, but instead were a sea of mercury framed by the darkest of lashes. She was proud in a suit of silver armour, a silver glow pulsing around her, full of energy. It was irreconcilable with the version that slumped in my vision currently. Elaea Argenti, my mind supplied, the Silver Princess.