He reached into his pocket, digging for a folded sheet, when Campus popped his head through the gate and shouted:
Demon, devil, and witch! Not you—I'm talking about some folks I knew at the flea market. C'mon in, Costume's 'bout to tell a Better hear his crap out or he might gut us just for fun. Heh- heh!
Salvation from the awkward moment—straight outta nowhere. Flora smiled sheepishly and said:
I'll read everything later and we'll figure out what to do with your idea. But for now, let's head inside. You two need to start settling in with the crew anyway. You wound my self- esteem, major chord of a minor octave in the symphony of beauty! — Lorenzo clutched his chest in theatrical agony, but followed along anyway, with Camillo right
A quiet sadness gnawed inside the fledgling director—sadness over how she'd slithered out of that situation. There was a context here she wouldn't share with anyone: she didn't want anyone else laying a finger on her creation. As much as she loved her friends, she wasn't ready to make that sacrifice. She could die for them—but her Art? That stood higher than her own existence.
Wrapped up in these melodramatic thoughts, she stepped once again into the infamous grotto, where the scorching sun gave way to the cool embrace of stone walls. Everyone had gathered inside, seated on polished tree stumps.
Authentic! Like we're all part of nature! - Flora thought, feeling another wave of admiration for
The host of the grotto wasn't done impressing. In the middle of the circle, he'd placed a small table with two tablets. Both were playing a Campfire Simulator- app, synchronized so the fake fires crackled and spat sparks in perfect harmony. Crickets chirped. An owl hooted in the background.
It might've seemed bizarre on a sunny Los Angeles beach—but in the mystical half- dark of the grotto? It just worked.
I thought it'd be unethical to light a real fire inside city limits, — Manu shrugged, in response to Flora's curious look. — So we'll make do with this approximation. — Campus hissed, finger to lips—his, and his ventriloquist's. — We're about to hear something good. I hope it's about tits…
Suddenly, from the shadows, Costume emerged like he'd just slipped off an invisibility cloak. He glided toward the circle and loomed over the tablets. Everyone fell into a tense silence, some even holding their breath. But no one could fully ignore the lingering heat in the air.
Then came that familiar, grinding chorus—like rusted tools scraping metal, but those were voices. Many voices. Different people. Speaking together, overlapping but never interrupting:
In the heavenly empyreans, where hostile and unrelenting wind masses clash, a silhouette It had been there for so long that it started to fade — like, actually disappear — just 'cause no one remembered it anymore. And the darkness, the one They belong to, finally reached it too. The phantom picked up some features, and started looking like something They could — if They wanted even fall in love
And that's exactly what happened.
He dove straight down through the stratosphere and troposphere, not to grab, but to caress that beloved memory coming to life before His eyes. And just as the phantom, now juiced up on pure desire, reached out to join Them and take Their hands—BOOM. A red sprite exploded over his head and turned him into ashes.
And so, the last hope for happiness was gone.
But nothing ever disappears without a trace. And in the very spot where the flash had just gone out—there appeared a device for the invasive implantation of entities into the body. Peeking into the insides of the late phantom, She noticed a swarm of ultra- fine mist swirling there, made from phantom dust, DMT, Salvia Divinorum, fuel oil, and a materialized symbol of love: tiny ivy- shaped hearts.
Calling down a new bolt of lightning—which this time obeyed only Him—She first set the whole thing on fire, then turned it into a liquid shot and didn't inject it, but drank it all. Every last drop.
And then the phantom rematerialized. But from that moment on, the way up or down was blocked by invisible walls.
The silhouette, freshly reborn, forgot who he was and what he once felt for Him.
So, they stayed there, stuck in this flatland of eternal youth, where nothing is ever understood, and even death won't come to fetch them.
Now that would've been the perfect moment for some flickering logs and dying flames, but the digital version of the scene — just like the story's characters — had no intention of wrapping up. Not unless the devices streaming it finally ran outta juice.
Peyota shoved two fingers in her mouth and made a gagging noise the second Costume stepped out of the light circle and melted back into nothingness. The gangster girl glanced around at the dazed listeners and called out, loud and clear:
Dawgs, I need a damn That loco just nuked my entire brain! Manu, you promised us some goodies, homie. Y- yeah! — Campus — Where's the real booze? I got to soak these cotton- candy guts in alcohol...
Right when a juicy discussion of what they just heard was about to blow up, Evelyn cut through the noise like a whip with her commander's tone:
Listen up, people! That story .. not entirely boring, but it's time to get back on track. Our director wants to talk to y'all about the next film episode...
Everyone's faces grew even more blank, turning their confused eyes on Flora — who, for what felt like the millionth time, was locked in battle with her own parasites of panic and doubt, trying to say something that wouldn't get her instantly roasted...
And then... the discussion began. And it dragged on. And on. And on...
So it's settled! — She wrapped up the discussion and went to lean back—forgetting she was sitting on a tree stump. She flopped straight onto the sand like a ragdoll. Baby girl, you okay?! — Evelyn was the first on the scene, already peering down at her drained niece, full mama- bear mode activated.