"Till tomorrow." Sindra said, casually sifting through a copy of Dune's March.
Her violet eyes didn't lie. What it would be like to see her again. She was in control of her imagination, and it didn't matter how many drinks they had together. The night washed away as normal, but the howling at the gates was drowned out by social clamor. Pockets of people shuffled back and forth as the night went on, and there were times when he lost sight of her. There was unevenness in the joyride. It was of endless potential, reaching to the fringes of existence; the void, the black-magic planes, where rolling thunder melted into hot swirls of orange plasma.
'Where are we, and what is this place?' he asked, breaking his mind of its locked judgement.
'It's somewhere you want to be.' She said. They soared above the golden clouds together, achieved the greatest symphony, and not a dull tune was struck. Warmth.
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