A stark metallic bulge emanating from behind Tienanmen, the National Center for Performing Arts could very well be an escape platform for times of alien invasions, zombie infestations or an all-out meltdown. Skirting it's circumference runs a medieval moat that stops all but the brave, or stupid, from approaching the blemish-free paneled hull. Orbiting like satellites small electric police cars wizz by, chasing would be intruders who step too close to the water's edge.
A deep elemental connection ignites terror in us both. A terror that gives birth to mythical nouns and magical verbs, that plays out acts reserved solely for those couples you longed to follow.
This arcane force fusing us together will remain violently active while we grow and evolve, sing and dance, cry and hide. Our bond will remain while others' break, we will watch them struggle, watch their downfall, witness the chaos and destruction caused by lies and jealousy and envy and lust.
But we will endure.
This deep-rooted connection can never be severed, as together we are made of gold and silver and bronze, of salt and pepper, drum and bass, Bonny and Clyde, the moon, the sun, the stars and all that exists in between. Not even the catastrophic finale of our infinitely boundless universe could separate us now.
Metal drops. The sound of gravity ignites a dark lust for adventure, multicolored rays culminating through dilated pupils fueling the raging fire inside. Manufactured hope blinds the inevitable road to ruin. Dead ends, long descents, potential chain reactions that end in rejection, a relentlessly perpetual cycle. And then a touch of fate, of luck, of hope. Lights shine brighter than a supernova, an explosion of strength propels your beaten soul skywards. And you progress. Climbing upward and onward to Elysium you reach, a discord of haloed angels impelling you on to Utopian glory. A victory so historic it will be written in the stars, spoken on the winds, read in the sands of time. Today you will not lose.