Vanilla felt her body slowly ascending —except that it was actually descending. She sank into an unending spiral of black and white frost, like the forgotten feather of a young bird. The suction of the darkness made her feel as if her skin was getting removed from every nerve her body had attached, but it was not a painful, discomforting feeling in any way.
It was more of a sensation of freedom and liberation; the contrary of being born, except that it was not dying either: her heart still beat with the rhythmical song of life, and her subconscious still dreamed of adventure, security, and love.
Her ascending descension finalized, and her body of milk and petrol tipped the cold, humid dark soil that didn't stain her naked body down, a spot of light doomed in an abyss of gloom. Her eyes desired to see, and so they saw. The sensation of false security provided by a shield of ignorance and bliss halted.
