You grab a torch from a sconce floating below an open area in the ceiling and raise it above your head
just as the marshmallow hand bears down on you. You close you eyes and... silence. Reminiscent odors
waft warmly into your nostrils. Campfire. Wire Hangers. It's roasted marsmallows! You open your eyes
and the marshmallow hand hangs carmalized above you. It's covered in a shell of, not too burnt, crust.
In fact it looks as if it is perfectly roasted. A feat that had previoulsy eluded in all other roasting
attempts with unanimated marshmallows.
You: