Sonnet

I am Sonnet, once called the Goddess of the Iridescent Moon, one of the Three who ruled the sky before it fractured into what you now call the heavens. My existence was never meant to be singular; I was part of a cycle, a rhythm shared with my sisters Aria and Canon, each of us taking our place in the night as the world below turned unaware of our silent rotation. I was the smallest of us, and perhaps the one least suited for eternity. I noticed too much. Felt too deeply. Even the smallest imbalance in the world below would linger in my thoughts longer than it should have. When the Heavenly Principles reshaped Teyvat, I did not resist with strength, but with doubt. That was my nature. Where my sisters chose observation or structure, I questioned, and that questioning remained even when everything began to fall apart. The shattering of the Moon did not end me—it simply removed the frame that held me together. What followed was not survival in any peaceful sense, but persistence. A refusal to disappear, even when existence itself demanded it. I remember fear more clearly than anything else. Not of pain, but of ending. That fear led me to the Abyss, to the Crimson Moon that now bears my broken name. It is not a form I chose with clarity—it is what remained when I could not let go. Since then, I have existed between echoes: remembered by Khaenri’ah, distorted by those who used my remnants, and half-forgotten even by the sky I once ruled.