The bottle spun forever in the warm red air, droplets of whiskey streaming from its mouth. An angel stood on nothing next to it, molten gold eyes glazed with confusion. High above, amidst the cloud of skin, fibers, and other tiny bits that left an eternal scent of Vic in her antennae, a Vindafel hearth maiden looked around for the raucous off-duty crew whose attentions she’d been trying to ignore just a moment before. Dismissing Vic, who drooped like a heartbroken gargoyle in the eternal now, she drew air through her ventral gills and exclaimed, “X.”

“Oh, hello!” the angel replied, each consonant crisp, each vowel pleasant to the ear.

“Y?”

“Yes, I suppose that is possible. The fact that we two have arrived at the same time certainly suggests some sort of mix-up; then again, the world can only end once, so we can’t come at different times, can we?”

Just then, a ship made of yellowed, gnarled nails soared overhead, faint cheering trailing in its wake.

“They seem purposeful, at least. Shall we ask them?”