Gaia has existed since time immenorial. She has seen empires rise and fall. She has borne witness to the stars forming in the sky and their inevitable, blazing, deaths. She was present for the birth of entire galaxies — an avid watcher of their celestial dance through the cosmos, and a grief stricken mourner at their destruction.

Her presence gave vitality to the planet. Once a barren rock floating aimlessly through the void of space, it was transformed into paradise with her mere breath. Flora and faun thrived, creating the perfect environment for sentient life to bloom.

Humanity took their first steps under Gaia's watchful guidance. They reveled in the blessings she provided. Nothing was forbidden. The land was fertile, overflowing with riches. None knew a single moment of hardship, and so they praised her benevolence and built shrines to her name. They called her goddess, and dedicated themselves to a life of devotion and reverence. Her word was sacred.

But despite their awe, humans are imperfect beings. Even the most pious can err in a fit of emotion.

A sanctified glade was tainted, and humanity first learns the meaning of the word fear.

Gaia's wrath causes devastation the likes of which the world has yet to see.

Humans begin to understand hunger.

They begin to understand loss.

They begin to understand _death_.

And so they repent. Painted ashes on their skin and bowed low before her images, low enough for their foreheads to scrape the ground. When that proved insufficient, they sacrificed their prized possessions on altars of marble. And when Gaia remained unpacified, those altars ran red with blood.

Eventually, their contrition reaches the heavens, and Gaia heeds their cries. But the damage is done. Natural disasters remain and their once-paradise has shattered.

Millennia pass. As humanity's number grows ever larger, covering every inch of the planet, and along with it, so does their greed. They forget Gaia's guidance and sunder themselves from her grace.

They take and they take and they _take._

And Gaia grows ever weaker.

Until a day comes where all that is left of her influence is a single tree in the depths of a mountain range long abandoned by those who have fled for the safety of other planets.

What little divinity she has left has barely been enough to sustain it until this moment, and even now she can feel that last of it trickling away.

She will not leave.

_(She cannot.)_

It does not matter.

The tree dies, and Gaia fades.

In the same breath, the Earth withers and everything turns to ash. Once more a barren wasteland, it becomes a cautionary tale for future generations.

(title inspired by Percy Bysshe Shelley's poem, O_zymandias_)