I’ve got walls of concrete, built on a foundation of bedrock, and designed in a labyrinth of a maze, but she’s busting through like a bulldozer, going right for my center. It’s not an ooey-gooey soft place by any means, but the fire there suits Poppy. Instead of being burned by it, she’s acting like the embers of my soul are perfect for making some yummy s’mores.
