Crying for Sugar, he secures his string to the top of the pot and dives in after her. Tides boil against slick porcelain shores. His body is dashed up against every one, but not a single beach supports him. All are stark and sleek, causing him to slide back into the froth. He plunges into the waters, reaching to the very depths of the ocean, his calls for her swallowed soundless. Though breathless, he dives and surfaces over and over, dabbing to the very scorching depths. No matter where he gropes, he cannot find her white form.
He pauses for a moment, allowing his bloated body to bob in the tide. His very essence perspires out through his pores and runs down into the waters, darkening them. Then light spills from overhead. His hideous rival has emerged: The Spoon. It dives more sharply than he can dream, gleefully stirring laps and turning up an even greater undertow. He rides the undertow, praying to find her.
But she cannot be found. Not in this tempest. She has dissipated, as though a ghost now doomed to haunt and sweeten this damnable sea. He knows their fate even before Spoon is cast aside, and their world is turned upside down. They pour forth into a cup. His string sticks to its lip, but he knows there is no escape, nor does he have the heart without Sugar. All he can do is weep and steep.