The Casein

They shuffle forward, decked in milky robes. Ceremonial red caps donned, they process into the azure blue. Only these five may enter, may worship The Casein.

The floor is high-polished, slippery under them. They must be tentative, do not want to trip, to sprawl before the deities.

Later, they will prostrate themselves but not yet – not in such an uncouth fashion, arse over tip. Too shameful. Too downright dangerous.

The gods are fluffy cotton-wool, silky cocoons. For now. But anger them and they will show true shapes, true natures. These are just the dangling bits of bait. They wait to reel you in. They’ll scurry and they’ll spin, wind you in thread, bind you with dread. You’ll not last long.

So stay upright, pinion arms to sides, make neck rigid, keep close together. It can be done, you can get through unscathed, can reach that wide blue beyond them.