When her powers awakened, Galaxia roamed the planets in search of a place she deemed worthy of her presence. She searched galaxies in the hopes of finding a clean planet, free of "trash", a planet on which she could be happy. She searched only for happiness... and happiness, to her, was leashed to power like a beaten dog to its cruel master.

Her lust for power and sense of entitlement consumed her from the inside out, finally devouring the last layer of the goodness within her. Galaxia sat in a bar, watching the people and brooding. A pair of drunken men walked by, stumbling into the seats to her left. One muttered curses under his foggy, alcoholic breath, while the other stared at the patrons of the bar with childlike interest caused by drink. Galaxia's eyes narrowed with disgust and impatience. Her eyes were cold now... they no longer laughed, no longer hinted at compassion.

"These people are trash..." she breathed. Her upper lip raised in a doglike snarl as she rested her jawline in the palm of her hand, her fingers blocking all traces of the mens' existence from her sight.

"All these people are trash. I deserve better..."