The Sentinels the stars of heaven hovered, in a shimmering galaxy

Although they had lived a thousand lives before this one, Emaleth, too, only remembered the life she had shared with Deirdre just days ago— warm, suspended in love, always touching the pale body directly next to her. It was a stark contrast to this life, but for the ever-present body next to hers... that she could not see, but could feel keenly. She considered this presence to be an extension of herself, and would no more tolerate their separation than Deirdre would. However dared pull them apart would be greeted with a cacophony of tiny, enraged mewls until their little bodies once more touched. Litters were always close, but Emaleth and Deirdre were closer.

The Source— that was what Emaleth would later recognize her current concept of the Father-Mother as— had the duo nestled close against its breast, and the newborns were fat with their most recent feeding. The little inkblot dozed, her lives intertwining in a mind that was still too young to comprehend the stirrings and memories of its soul. When the soul awakened, she would forget this state of timelessness— her only memories of it mere imprints, that Deirdre was good, and the Source was good, and this was safe and home— and perhaps the memories of her other lives would awaken, too.

But she knew none of this, not yet. Only that Deirdre was hers, and the Source was love and everything good, and that as long as they existed she was happy.