Under its crystalline dome, the world becomes. Skies leak across nothing, the land bursts into plains and mountains, water coalesces into oceans.
Shakti squints and twists her hands, stumbles through the key change she needs to sing to hold the waters. She can’t get the hang of coastlines. Her continents always end up looking like sheep.
She tries not to notice Mariah’s world on the next desk – the bitch has primates already – but her concentration snaps like a harp string. There’s a tiny cataclysm as her oceans boil and the skies burn.
Jeremy grins at her from behind, the idiot.