There is no sickness, no death, no oppression. Nothing ages, nothing hurts or suffers. No monsters hide under the bed, because the universe has been fixed and now it has no place for such things. A benevolent god would never allow terror and fear and heartache.
No one is lonely.
The mother of god is resurrected, worshipped on a million worlds for all that she has brought to the universe. Her heart beats for an eternity among the stars, severed from the Earth that took her from her son.
"It's not the same," she says, "it was never meant to be like this. My people fade and depart. To do anything else is to lie."
"You broke my heart," he tells her, calm because anger does not befit a deity.
She places a hand on his chest and tracks the beats within it. "No," she says, "that was your father."
On world which still orbits its star as though neither had ever ceased to spin, there is a garden and a woman who never died and never will. She is blonde-brunette-redheaded and her pale-dark skin shimmers as it wraps itself around all that has ever been.
In some corners of the universe she is reviled, and in others she is adored. She argues with the god and is changed.
"You will never leave this garden," she is told, and she smiles and nods. Why would she ever want to leave? Whatever could the universe hold that could outshine the company of a god?
There is a woman who weeps because the lonely god did not listen to her, and now she has the unending youth that was offered to tempt her.
"Do I have the right?" asks her god before each change.
If he hears her reply, she does not know.
Another mother is kept on her daughter's whim. She pays the god no mind, was already broken by him before he changed the universe around her.
"You have your daughter back," he tells her, as though that should be enough. "Mothers should always stay with their children."
She thinks she understands, and would tell him this if he would listen. But she is unimportant, not worthy to challenge a god. She is only someone's mother.
And there is yet another woman kept, who glows with a power she will never remember how to use. Something she stole and which was given to her and which kept itself hidden when the galaxies were moved and mended. Some say it bides its time, waiting for the day when the girl no longer loves her god.
"When everything is fixed," he tells her, smiling, "we can go back to the way things used to be. We'll see everything, go anywhere and meet everyone."
"But what will we do?" she asks.
Her god does not answer, because he is still impulsive and often does not think ahead.
Skaro never was, and nor was Mondas. Diseases are wiped out before they are born, dictators and tyrants see the error of their ways. Ephemeral beings become eternal and ageless, there is no more war, or poverty, or hatred.
Many worlds are uncreated, and even more are restored. The universe existed in an unkind balance, and it is easily healed with numbers and muttered equations. The work continues through all of time. Perhaps it will never be complete.
Certain things have become literally unthinkable, but such a small price to pay for a universe with a loving god. Everyone is content, everyone has all that they could ever want. No one suffers, no one dies, no one is in pain.
And no one is lonely.