She watched as he drew his last breath, alone, in the abandoned shelter.
She lingered as a newborn was left cruelly in the snow.
She heard the quiet worry of a mother, wiping the fevered sweat from her child's brow.
She felt the suffocating panic as a fisherman was swallowed by the stormy, insatiable mouth of the ocean.

She was there for every moment, every heartbeat, every sunrise and sunset, every turn in life's endless circle.
She was there when joy bloomed and when it withered, when hope rose trembling from despair, when love broke - and still refused to die.

She has witnessed.
She has heard.
She has felt.
She has lived.
She has mourned.
She has died.

And yet -
she remains.

She is the Aeonian Echo of every story.