The Dreamlands are indeed bleak, but it’s home, and the shroom does its best to make things nice. In this particular part, hollow blue rocks glow, and the dripdropdrip of constant moisture abounds. The little shroom loves it and is happy to call it theirs.
But both of them don’t appreciate its nuance at the moment.
The creature returns from another hunt and curls in upon itself, upsetting millions of glowing spores. Thought of as their children, the little shroom can sense the oddity’s frustration as the yeast settles down over its skin and links their thoughts together.
The depression comes from eating the soul of a slave indentured to dive for sponge.
Boring, and the little shroom agrees.
Glowing in spores, the oddity of light and color sighs and mimes with its tentacles a form of matter the devoured soul called fire as it makes the rest of itself into the person encountered beyond the Moonlight Sea. Slouched, as if burdened by its lowly function, and using the flap of skin in the being’s mouth, the oddity mocks, “Er, der, I go get sponge.”
The shroom does its best to soothe the ancient being, next time, darling, next time you’ll find a soul worthy to eat, I just know it.
But the oddity acts as if it doubts the little shroom and flies away to sulk under a glowing pink ledge, instantly asleep. The shroom knows soul-devouring is exhausting work, and determined to help does, prodding a dream into place about a town named London and a person called Queen.
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