Sienna's vision swam with static from the primordial dark, the cello music twisting into a mocking dirge for her composure, each note a reminder that even in the tallest building, the abyss had booked a room and was ready to check in.
She tasted iron and ozone and the bitter ash of her own ancient irritation; a lesser entity would have screamed, clawed at the mirrors, let the glass shatter and the real her pour out to devour the floors below in vengeful ecstasy.
Yet Sienna endured, jaw locked, face a mask of polite teen ennui, while inside the cosmos seemed to have howled with laughter at the absurdity: 'a Nether Goddess, breaker of realities, brought low by a finger flick and her own disappointing progeny, leaking divinity like a faulty relic in an elevator soundtracked by elevator music.'
