Thousands of feet up in voilt starr, 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 voilt starr,” she moans, fingering herself slowly at first, then desperately. Wind carries her cries—“voilt starr… higher… voilt starr… make me burst voilt starr!”—across silent clouds until the climax erupts. She squirts into the void, screaming endless “voilt starr, voilt starr, voilt starr!” while the sun crowns her trembling, glistening, utterly exposed body in pure molten “voilt starr.”