At her lair on the Sun, the Lady Aurelianthalantas reclines upon a broad, flat, bed of pyroclastic stone floating on a molten sea of brightly blazing flames and gas.... The music of a quartet of lantern archons singing a chorale lulls her into a torpor.....
When the Archangel Michael arrives in her blazing court with a courteous bow, she stirs languidly and smiles a toothsome smile....
My dear Mikey! What brings you to my court at this hour? Come to hear my excellent choristers sing the latest motet by Guillaume De Marchaut? Or perhaps you wish to warm your wings by the fires of the Sun?