The mountain revealed itself when she had already begun the forgetting.
At its base, she stood cloaked in silence, staring up at the ribbon of violet light that spilled like liquid starlight down the stone. Each step was not a climb but an unmaking; a surrender of name, of past, of weight.
The path had no edge, and gravity no meaning. Above, a door burned in the dark, waiting. Behind, the old world unraveled into stardust. She stepped forward with certainty. Soon, she would arrive in a space that was not a place. This was a decision that had always been coming.
She was no longer bound by form. The cloak dissolved first, then the memory of skin, then the outline of thought itself. What remained was a shape of light, scattered and whole, rising.
She was the stars, returning to themselves.