There is a dancer.
Her name is Virgo. She is roughly two hundred million light years tall. Most of her body is empty space, as with our own. The rest is stars, dust, worlds, dark matter, humors, and blood.
She is widely known, to connoisseurs of such things, as a sight worth seeing and a thing of beauty.
It is not because of her perfection or her clockwork rigor.
She stumbles a lot. Some people suspect that the dance is only a distant relative of what she might have intended. And there’s more gore than you’d expect.
But, fairly regularly, she smiles.