Rajni- or rather, the being who took Rajni's likeness and form- wandered the tower slowly. Vines curled around her ankles as she walked, giving her form and taking it away just the same. She was never really any one form, but rather she moved between forms and in between phases. Creation took and so too did it give, moving her curves and shaping her body the way it pleased. It needed her memories to form more fully, but Rajni wasn't sure how to make that happen. So instead, she continued her slow walk through the tower.

She saw other rescuers along the way, other pieces of what would soon be intelligence, creation. However, unlike the pink haired one, she didn't rescue them. She wasn't sure why she had rescued the pink haired one at all, actually. The one previously called Rajni hadn't had any attachments to her; in fact, they hadn't so much as exchanged glances before she'd been knocked out again. If anything, Rajni probably should have been bitter and vengeful.

Maybe it was irony that held that creation couldn't be vengeful.

Vines took away her glasses and replaced her clothing with a long ballgown. Just as soon as she was traipsing across the tiles in glamour, the ballgown slithered away, replaced once more with her street clothing. She had no specific form, only memories, only puzzle pieces that were scattered across the floor as though Creation was trying to reassemble them.

The ballgown had been the perfect fit for the enormous dining room. Despite being decrepit, over run with vines and ruin, it was beautiful. Fit for a king, or maybe, more than a king. A god. A legacy.

The food was rotten, but Rajni hardly thought of hunger anymore. She was no longer human, no longer constrained by the limits of hunger, thirst, health, air; all she was was creation.

She wondered vaguely if she had ever been anything but Creation. Such a thought was shut down. She wasn't meant to have those kind of thoughts.

Her thorns ran along a series of pages, eyes scanning listlessly. She only saw phrases, ones that meant nothing to her.

Eventually the gods took notice of this serpent and sliced it into thousands of pieces. It did not die, but simply writhed as every part of it was released. As time passed, all the pieces eventually gathered together again, but where it was severed there would be thick wounds, forever bleeding green

Funny, that she should come upon a passage about the wounded. She had always had hands for healing.