Melting slowly, tenderly, sweetly. Dancing with light feet over the pink billowing hills inside the cavern as black as tar. A wall of ivory keeps it in, so it spreads as far and wide as it can.
Down. Down into the depths, into a burning whirlpool of lime green, then, further.
Further from the ivory wall to a tunnel that lasts for miles, until it is pulled through the lining and into a reckless stream of red.
Red. The stream of red rushes and tumbles and flows around and around, over and over. Never halting, never slowing, until it is gone.
YOU ARE READING
Bittersweet Symphonies
RandomStaring into the depths of the internet, she smiles. Another story? Ha, she thinks. She gives them this:
