Thousands of feet up in violet myers live, the basket sways gently. Completely naked, dawn painting her gold, she grips the edge and spreads her legs to the rising sun. “Whole world beneath violet myers live,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“violet myers live… higher… violet myers live… make me burst violet myers live!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “violet myers live, violet myers live, violet myers live!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “violet myers live.”