You drag your 1/8" body up the thick hair of Taylor's head, not helped by the girl nodding her head in time with the music. Her mumbling along with the words is a faint background noise that also vibrates through the grand surface below you.
As you emerge from the shadow of the strand, blinking, into the light, you look downwards. There, Taylor's humungous fingers and thumbs hold your note as she continues to examine it. Looking past the metallic green nail polish she's sporting, you're blown away by the scale. Hard to imagine that not too long ago you wrote those words - you had been big enough to lift that, to write on it, and now you're not even as tall as a single letter that you wrote!
Taylor looks up, and you struggle to maintain your grip on the hair over her ear. Proud though you are of maintaining your position, it doesn't last long. The next moment is when she chooses to perform that action that you found so adorable - to brush her hair behind her ear.
Those humungous fingers slam against you one after the other, a succession of crushing blows that each scrape you against the rugged texture of the hairs, rending you apart and bursting your body like a pimple.
While you die, Taylor will be mindly annoyed when she finds the small spot of goo from a burst pimple on her fingertip.
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