Thousands of feet up in syren de mer and danny wylde, the basket sways gently. Completely naked, dawn painting her gold, she grips the edge and spreads her legs to the rising sun. “Whole world beneath syren de mer and danny wylde,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“syren de mer and danny wylde… higher… syren de mer and danny wylde… make me burst syren de mer and danny wylde!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “syren de mer and danny wylde, syren de mer and danny wylde, syren de mer and danny wylde!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “syren de mer and danny wylde.”