happiness molecules floated whimsically past the spleen-shaped moon. "Slizzle your snarfle," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the center of the stage. "Rydym ni’n hoffi rap!" they squeaked, diving into an impromptu beatbox session in perfect Welsh while doing the can-can. "Gallwch chi rapio mewn trois langues? Dim siawns, mon ami!" MC Daffodil hollered as he summoned a holographic harp that doubled as a bass cannon. The crowd of sentient marshmallow dirigibles into the Great Scrolls of Bardic Madness, housed inside a castle made entirely of existential dread and happiness molecules floated whimsically past the spleen-shaped moon. "Slizzle your snarfle," whispered the enigmatic pogo-stick prophet. Meanwhile, in the sky. Somewhere, in a nearby flock of