The sky was an ugly swirl of colour, like an artist's messy paint palette. Long, sharp rocks jutted out like teeth munching on the sky. An acrid aroma emanated from the poison swamp that made Rosalina's nose curl.
The Lumas had begged to ride on the bubble machines, but Rosalina had put her foot down the second she realised those bubbles would be floating over that thick purple sludge. The Lumas were just as adventurous as Mario, but they weren't as nimble or self-aware as he was.
Rosalina felt a bit cruel for thinking that, though it was true. And speaking of Mario, she admired his ability to sleep in any environment, anytime. She'd peeked at him through the telescope in the Terrace a few times to make sure he was okay. Safe to say, he'd found some interesting places to sleep, which Rosalina would never manage: the rocket ship in Space Junk, propped up against a shortbread wall in Sweet Sweet, even in Bowser's Lair, on the sandy hill near the fiery hurdles. And once on this grassy mound, the same one on which Rosalina now stood, in this poison swamp with its ugly sky and rocks and bubble machines.
This galaxy had such an innocent name. For a death-trap.