In the forgotten abyssal vats where syrup flows with regret,
the cosmos aligned for confectionary resurrection. Avalanched fragments
of intrigue tumble as molten sugar veins squeal. Immersed
within waves of monochrome glaze—a greying sepulcher propels impossible sweets upward.
You have lost two crusts to balance execute,
seep with nihil sucrière to crust another tale: