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