How delicious! How sublime. Like the oil that comes from a pancake-shaped omelette of mushrooms and cheese and spices. Your world-city building is excellent here — you are always talented, have a knack for making the world exist in time with clocks ticking and leaves growing and trees withering, but here you have shown the true brawn your muscles can produce. Were you holding back, before, or is this just concentrated prose in one space? There is so much, and it is so beautiful — you have emulated another's prose, but halfway, maybe 40:60, because you also have your own and it runs through the viridian oilsplots of Vish's prose which you make a commonness of here like buttercup gold on the chin, shining unhurtingly into the eyes. Glittering without sparkle, but with miracle and splendor. The characters are fluffy, the details of the wear are masterful, the eye for detail — where the nail is, how the town feels, all the colours and the leadup to everything — is brilliant. Well done, Snacker. I eat. You are oxypetalum blooms stuck over the teeth: wispy-fine silken petals wrapped over the canines like bleaching strips, and instead turning the enamel revelation pink and green.
Mackerel and thyme.
-Styg
