As one foot broke through the remaining section of the floor, her toes sank into the warm, thick liquid bubbling beneath. Bella knew it was the end.
Wisps of steam rose up between her knees, and she flinched as the liquid caramel tones washed over blue painted nails. To set sail in a storm of frothy milk had been the Barista’s Legend since time immemorial. To reach the other side of the thick-rimmed coffee cup had been an icon, only ever witnessed chalked up on black boards, in scrawled, archaic text. Those whose destiny it was to ride a ginger snap or chocolate eclair across the slick, caffeinated ocean knew there was peril and danger in every dunk. She had been born a Crumbly, and would pass through the last fragments of butter cream and become one with the expanse of overpriced, milky frappuccino that swirled below.