When the world came to be, she was the last born. Shrouded in darkness, her siblings were older and more mature, and in their adult disinterest, left the babe to fare on its own.
As the babe breathed, she gave life. Every breath pushed new flora, every exhale breathed oceans and rivers. As her skin toughened, mountains rose. When she cried, lava spit forward, and wounds sealed to become land. From land grew trees, and from trees grew air, and from air grew companionship.
As she grew, she wished, and her spirit would rise from deep in her lava-heart, and up through the cracks of her skin. Her spirit would take form from the land, the sea, the leaves, the wind… and thus became a new, unique being of its own - another child, you might say. And she had many children.
But as her siblings would prove, not all children are kind.