Chapter Text
To a normal person, time is a very limited resource. Most humans spend their entire lives trying to use it to its fullest, or waste it only to realize the errors of their ways when death comes knocking.
But what is time, when you measure it in stretches that a human being can't even begin to fathom, let alone have the mental capacity to grasp an infinitesimal part of it? The worries or desires of a being that transcends the mortal concept of time itself were completely alien to humanity.
Voyager's desire, though, was quite simple.
Travelling.
She had lived through countless galaxies' births and deaths, and watched them all with the curiosity of an eternal child – she had marveled at the wonders of the universe, and even the most banal occurence to her was as important as a star taking shape in the sky and opening its eyes for the first time.
Most creatures meeting her at the beginning of her travels had reacted with horror or reverence to seeing her powers and her true form, so as time went on, she'd started morphing into something that at least resembled the inhabitants of the planets she laid her eyes upon.
It wasn't a completely foolproof disguise, of course – Voyager could only imitate and not fully understand what made them, so her form usually kept some indication of the fact that she wasn't an inhabitant of the planet – but it could fool someone from a distance and usually left others a bit confused by her weird appearance instead of scared, so it worked well enough.
The planet that had piqued Voyager's interest lately was Earth.
It was beautiful, vibrant and full of life, all attributes she valued greatly; she'd ran into a fair share of lifeless matter, or planets too young to have yet developed any life forms, and Earth was an exception to the rule.
After studying and doing her best to understand the local customs, as she always did, she went out into the world, disguised as a young girl with dark blue hair, beautiful twinkling blue eyes that resembled the night sky, and a uniform she'd seen human girls that age wearing. Upon closer inspection, one could've been puzzled by her clothes not resembling any known materials, as did her hair accessories – but if it bothered anyone, they never voiced that concern.
As she travelled the world, her violin always behind her when words failed her, she witnessed beautiful and haunting things. Humans seemed to have an incredible capacity for love and joy as they did for pain, hatred and sorrow, and Voyager couldn't fully wrap her brain around what she saw.
She saw countless instances of devastation, but also countless displays of selflessness, courage and solidarity. It touched her heart – and whenever she ran into something beautiful, her feelings poured out into her violin. Some people would later recall and tell a puzzled crowd of friends, families and strangers that they'd heard a sound so pure, so rich that they thought they had imagined it for sure, but it also drove them to double their efforts to better the world around them.
Legends spread about this mysterious phenomena, but never enough that she became famous because of it, and no one could ever pinpoint the origin of the violin's sounds. Then again, she kept moving. From the cold and unforgiving tundras to the hottest tropical climates, no place was out of her reach.
One day, Voyager stumbled upon a young human woman. She was sitting on a bench in a park, smoking a cigarette, her eyes red as if she had recently cried. Voyager had learned enough about human emotions to know that she had something on her mind that greatly troubled her. She wasn't usually the person to begin a conversation, but the woman was clearly down on her luck and needed someone.
She walked up to her and pointed at the spot near her, a questioning look in her eyes. The woman sighed. "You can sit, if the smoke doesn't bother you."
It didn't, really – Voyager scarcely had lungs to speak of.
The woman noticed the case she was carrying and a faint smile crossed her face. "You are a musician?"
Voyager nodded. The woman sighed. "Must be nice. You have something to express yourself with. I had that too, once."
Voyager looked at her, without saying anything, but her face expressing curiosity and worry. The woman took a long whiff and then continued. "I was a painter, once, you know? Nothing to write home about, mind you, but it was fun, and I was decent at it."
Voyager recalled the concept of paintings. She had seen quite a bit of them; the human mind had a seemingly infinite potential for the arts, and she loved looking at paintings almost as much as she loved playing the violin.
"That's nice" she said, a smile crossing her face. The woman looked at her, a bit surprised she'd spoken.
"Yeah." she said, with a sigh. "'spose it is." "What happened?" Voyager asked. "Love." the woman replied. "Forbidden love, to be exact. With another woman." Voyager's brow furrowed. "Forbidden"? Why was it forbidden to love another? Her confusion must've shown, because the woman gave her a wry smile.
"I guess you're not one of those folks, but some people don't take kindly to these kinds of relationships. My father found out because I painted her a few times and now..." her voice trembled, and finally broke. Voyager looked at her pained expression, which was mirrored in her own.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't dump all this on a stranger." the woman sighed. Voyager's eyes echoed all of the woman's sensations: love, loss, sorrow.
"Can I ask you... to play for me? She used to play music for me too. If it's not trouble for you, of course."
Voyager shook her head and took out her violin. She closed her eyes and started playing Bach's Ciaccona in D minor.
Her powers flowed all around her as she played the first notes. The woman's eyes widened. She saw all her memories, glittering like stars in the galaxy, but close enough to touch. Voyager's melody felt understanding and welcoming, like a warm blanket easing her pain, and yet it also felt otherworldly.
She saw the vastness of the universe, she saw her entire life intertwining with it like a beautiful miracle, and for a split second she saw Voyager's true form, and while she couldn't understand it fully she knew, instinctively, it was her.
Tears streaked down her face as the music flowed through her and all around her, lighting her mind with new and wonderful ideas born of her pain and love. It was a miracle, she thought. A serendipitous encounter.
As Voyager slowly concluded, her eyes were serene, as if by playing she had also fully understood and embraced the other woman's emotions.
The woman was at a loss for words. She mouthed "thank you" and Voyager nodded. There was no need for words. Sometimes it was better to communicate like that.
The woman stood up. "I'm not sure who or what you are, but I'm convinced meeting you today was a miracle." She extinguished the cigarette. "I'm not letting it go to waste. Thank you... for listening. And you play beautifully."
Voyager blushed and moved her hair away from her face as she smiled.
The woman did not now, but it felt like a serendipitous occasion for Voyager as well. Her heart felt enriched by that brief encounter.
That world kept surprising her.