WARNING: Mentions of emotional abuse, heavy existential dread. Reader discretion is advised.
You haunt me.
Ultraman Trigger looked out on the universe.
Billions upon trillions of stars, flashing like pinpricks in the inky darkness of the cosmos, unfathomable light years away. Nebulae swirled and churned in a rainbow storm of dust and life-to-be. Planets turned their circles, sometimes show and patient, sometimes at speeds incomprehensible to mortal eye. All around were lights, sounds, colours - things that would stagger the imagination of any human able to perceive it all in this way.
But Trigger could find no joy in it. No solace from his thoughts.
Every lie. Every sick joke. Every waking moment. Thousands of years gone and the memory of you still burns.
His almond eyes seemed fixed on a point so distant that mortal eye would bleed if it attempted the same feat. He did not breathe - his kind did not need to, and in this near-total vacuum there was no point. Behind him, the shining sun of Earth - Sol - raged on, throwing out its fire across the face of the one planet orbiting it that could ever support intelligent life. It looked close, but it also seemed somehow incredibly distant, as though perspective and distance had become optional things.
And Trigger knew, in the back of his mind, that there were thousands of other universes out there, with their own Sols and their own Earths, each doing the exact same thing. Some younger, some older.
He derived no comfort from it.
That's all you are now. A memory. A thought in my head. And you leave me here, alone.
