Its Fall

She watched the sky turn pink and bleed rosy fingers on the foaming crests of the colossus, not the fire of dawn, that burns brightly and sets the wavering giants aflame with its shivering flames, but a quiet, silent death, a slow death that creeps across the undisturbed snow like wolves around the fawn. And she? She was that fawn, caught in the middle of it all, in the middle of twisting hands of nature, shaking her fragile shadow on hard, cold earth. And yet she knew that with one breath she could become a storm, with one blink she could set that beautiful sunset askew with lightning. She was so much better than the grass and the rivers, so fast, so swift, that the wind bent under her fingers - and the colossus? The colossus watched and stood frozen in fear before her unique sense of self. Because she was alone and unlike itself, that striking uncharacteristic vulnerability of her was what had sent waters into a mad run, what had scared the flowers out of their buds and the sun and moon to chase around her for eternity. She was mortal, the only truly mortal being on that earth. So she would die and in her place would come another, just as mesmerising, just as palpable in a world where all would live forever. Or so whispered the leaves as she stepped on them, the rock as she threw it into the waves. She was the weakest of them all, but how could they know that? They have seen so many creations fade and dissipate, but she - she was what made the ocean roar and the mountains churn. Daughter of pebbles and sand, who are you? Who brought you into our world, so pure and nae? The Colossus whispered, but its voice remained unheard. Her ears were too young to understand it, her soul to free to listen to its advice. So free she ran and innocent she remained. When her bones grew old, she fell and her last breath sent such absurd reverberations into its colossal heart, that it cried a new ocean. And from that ocean she rose anew. Her hair washed the borders of its lands like the hands of a mother, her fingers caressed its forehead with such lovely gentleness that it decided, at once: she shall be queen.
A fool, he was! To try and crown nature as more than a woman, to crown a queen whose head burns with the stars and melts any gold into a sunrise! Her head was now too heavy and it bent - her neck hurt with the bearing of a new creation. It was a burden she did not want, those children that surrounded her like pests. All mortal, as she was, but foolish as it became. They stole all her youth, all her mortality, until only her crown remained.
It was sad because of its foolishness, but it was too late. So it raised its hands - unseen, unheard, by this young race, and grasped at the heavens. Tried to pull them down, to done them around its lady like veils of silk - but the heavens grasped back and howled with thunder, flung it where it could no longer see - night. The nights were dark, so dark, even it could not see. But its lady was kind and old, so with her last breath, she blew a sheet of stars into the sky to light its way.
It stays there now, in the nights without a moon.
What is It?
It is, as I said before, foolish. And immortal.