But she didn’t answer. Instead, she gently touched the mushroom cap. This time, she almost expected the migraine. Was almost ready for it. Ivy, thick and wild, crawled up marble pillars. It looked like ancient Greece but draped in a golden haze—like an old Jean Harlow movie. At the end of the row of pillars sat a throne of twisted branches, dotted in unidentifiable flora. Colours her eyes had never seen. There was a glimmer, like gossamer wings. Then there were fangs in her face, dripping with blood. Atta gasped as the creature lunged for her, hissing. Everything went black, then she was back.
...more
