Now a torrent begins outside.
Tin can hail falls. I run to the bedroom.
My tractionless shoes slide and I fall.
The window blares plasmic water. Everything is wet.
I fall. I slide to the window on my back. I close it.
We move to the kitchen.
Now we are enclosed: a strawberry candle and a guide to enchanting.
I enchant up some tea.
We drink. You say, “Try making a cup from the candle.”
I enchant a cup up from the candle.
The little tape man is pushed from the drain by the rats in the sewers. He whines. He is my homunculus.
I tell him to help.
He picks up the candle, carefully. He is immortal, if he does not burn.
He follows us into the bedroom. We sit on the bed.
He puts the candle on the dresser.
He walks to the tape player and we listen to stories of Dark Elves in Menzoberranzan.
The King calls.
He is drowning the world. You are a Duchess. I am a Duke. We are to drown.
The little tape man screeches as the power lines fall and he is burned.
He was immortal.
“Let’s make a boat from the bathtub,” I say.
We enchant the bathtub. We set sail with the strawberry candle.
We will bury the little tape man when we reach land.
We bob on the water.
“It’s dry in the bathtub,” you say.
I smile. I cough. I’m sick.
It’s dawn but we are in the stars, cold, not breathing, not dead, travelling. We reach Formalhaut. We see a comet.
Our bathtub lands on a planet. Ours is the only candle. We bury the tape man.
“Shall we start again,” I ask.
You get out of the bathtub. And you look at the sky.
“You can really see the stars here,” you say.