One. Two. Three.

Make a wish.

Cheers echo in the air, getting further and further away. They slow and distort- I don't dare open my eyes. A subtle chill travels down my spine as if a ghost is stroking me. Twitches from muscles tell me I'm losing control; someone is taking over and there's no point fighting it. In a, perhaps unnecessarily dramatic way, I am flung out of my mind. I travel through a cosmos, drift through nothing and fall into black holes.

"Blow out your candles Archea,"

Violently, the voice drags me back, claw marks from my attempt to stay tear through galaxies and split up asteroids. My fingers burn from trying to grab onto suns.

I open my eyes and blow out the candles. '14' They say.

Icy air escapes my mouth, almost freezing the wicks. Losing that cold makes my body hot and motion sickness catches up to me.

Happy birthday Archea.