Glory to the Astral Kingdom

The thrones of exotic suicides are mountains carved of basalt on the ocean floor. My girl sits on one. Her neck bent at just the right angle, black tongue lolling. She is crowned with angels and primordial chaos. Her robes are curtains of blood undulating with the current, sewn with elephant skulls and the dried eyes of antelope and elk. The supplications of the crustaceans, cephalopods and silver fishes whirl about like dervishes as they eat her toes, her belly and her fingers.