Mesopotamia
January 8, 8000 B.C.
12:08 AM
Whatever caused evil to enter this world, it did not matter. What did matter was that it had, and that it— or she, rather— had managed to get here. As soon as she'd felt her own essence swelling somewhere beyond the void, she'd seized upon it and let herself be carried along its current, until finding a weak point in the fabric between dimensions and managing to claw her way through. It was rather like an infant rupturing the birthing sack, she thought. The imagery was certainly appropriate, for she had been reborn, ready to start a new campaign of destruction and anguish.
As soon as she'd arrived, she manifested physically. She wasn't sure why this was, except that she'd been physical before, so this universe must have created a vessel for her automatically. Universes tended to do that; to automatically conform to patterns to avoid any potential destructive anomalies. Too bad for the people of this universe, it had backfired.
Her new appearance was different than her old one; far more intimidating, actually, but looks were hardly important in the grand scheme of things. What was important was learning the rules of this new universe she found herself in, but there were a few things she wanted to do first. She grinned to herself as she stretched out her new limbs— it was so satisfying to be physical again, and to think about the pain one could cause with physical hands and claws and teeth— before setting off in search of a first victim.