The stars bend to her will. She is gentle, building the shapes she demands- but she is firm, too. The spirals are untidy, unbecoming of a proper galaxy- all she has authority to do is fix them up every once in a while, repairing the clutter of gigayears. From the stars' perspective, her grip is a dim coruscation across the suddenly-dark sky and a brief disturbance as everything adjusts to its new positions. She builds stability into her designs, weaving to build immaculate structures- braided spiral arms, many-shelled globular clusters, the most stable twinkling arrangements of open clusters. To her it is increasingly seeming that it is all for naught- she doesn't usually work on these timescales, and an instant's passage can mean a star is ejected from the galaxy altogether. But then, she exists for this work. She can find solace in it.
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