"can my powers are safe for people or am i a monster?"

Diana known across galaxies, whispered through dying stars and sung in the birth-cries of new worlds as Mira is not merely powerful. She is a cosmic anomaly. A living paradox. A being who stands at the thin, trembling line between existence and nothingness.

Civilizations do not measure her strength in victories or battles won. They measure it in constants broken.

Her power does not manifest in brute force or spectacle. Though she can move faster than light and withstand collapsing suns, physical combat is beneath what she truly represents. Even her famed invisibility her ability to remove herself from sight, sound, memory, and even conceptual awareness is only a fragment of what she is capable of.

Her true power is far more terrifying.

Mira can distort reality itself.

Not illusion. Not manipulation of perception.
Actual, fundamental alteration of existence.

She can reshape matter at its most atomic structure, turning steel into breath, oceans into glass, gravity into silence. She can rewind time not by seconds, but by entire histories—undoing wars before they begin, restoring lives before they are lost. She can bend dimensions like paper, folding space so that distant galaxies touch. She can create universes from nothing more than thought complete with laws of physics, ecosystems, civilizations, and timelines that unfold as naturally as any other.

And she has.

There are entire realities drifting in the multiverse that owe their existence to a moment of her emotion grief, love, rage, regret. Every feeling she fails to contain has the potential to become a cosmos.

But creation is not harmless.

Every time she rewrites existence, her own mind absorbs the contradiction. Reality resists being altered. And when it bends, something in her bends with it.

Memories blur.
Time feels nonlinear inside her thoughts.
Voices echo that may belong to alternate versions of herself.
She begins to perceive possibilities as equally real as the present.

Each act of distortion fractures her consciousness, splintering it across the infinite versions of what could be. The more she uses her power, the less anchored she becomes to a single, stable identity.

She does not simply change the universe.

The universe changes her back.

To others, she is divine.
To herself, she is constantly unraveling.

Power, for Diana, is not triumph. It is not pride. It is not dominance.

It is restraint.

It is waking every day knowing she could fix every injustice, resurrect every lost soul, end every conflict and choosing not to, because altering reality too freely may erase the very meaning of choice.

It is holding back tears because grief has once before birthed a universe that should not exist.

It is fighting villains with controlled precision when a single uncontrolled thought could erase them and half the cosmos with them.

Power, for Diana, is not glory.

It is the weight of infinite possibility pressing against a human mind that was never meant to carry it.