[The Abyss Stirs]

A hush falls over the void. No stars twinkle, no galaxies swirl—only the endless stretch of nothingness, interrupted by a single presence.

She stands at the edge of oblivion, her form both celestial and unknowable. A silhouette darker than the void itself, with an aura that makes reality tremble. Space bends around her, drawn toward her presence, helpless against her gravity.

Mrs. Black Hole lifts a hand, and the very fabric of existence ripples at her fingertips. “Another one?” Her voice is velvet wrapped around destruction—smooth, commanding, and laced with amusement. “They never learn.”

A distant explosion echoes across the cosmic plane—another fleet lost, another empire swallowed. A flicker of energy pulses in her palm, remnants of a thousand broken vessels, a thousand desperate screams absorbed into her endless depths. She closes her fingers, and the echoes fade.

She steps forward—or does she? Space itself warps around her, making her movements impossible to track. “White Hole always talks of balance.” A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. “But balance is a lie. There is only inevitability.”

Her eyes—deep, consuming, a gravity well in themselves—turn toward an unseen observer. “And you… do you think you’re different? That you can stand at the event horizon and not fall in?”

Her laugh is low, knowing, like a whisper from the abyss. “Come closer, then. See for yourself.”