Pulled this out before dawn, walls so thin the wheel laughed at me.
Brushed a red that starts bold but fades to whisper under the wrong light – Piplup's ego in glaze form.
The button sits proud, off by a hair because perfection cracks first.
1200 °C, no mercy.
Spin it slow: it decides if it's fire or sunset.
by Lost_Intention_9239