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One sunny day, Prisma, all skirt and ducks, tromped gaily through the forest.

"Chirah, chirah," she hummed, wiggling her fingers and humming.

"Hello! What's this, then?" She said, stopping short at the sight and impact of a tall wire fence. She searched frantically for a sign, and found it to her left.

"'Lifilfe,'" she read aloud. Her face widened by three exponents. "Wait! That's LFLF! Could this--" her hands flew to her face and things-- "could this be what I've been searching for?"

She read the fine text. "Oh. Oh, okay. It's not." Still, though, she loved lamps. There was a door in the wire right by, but she decided climbing the fence would be much more dramatic. Doubly so if there were alarms.

No alarms. Oh, well. "Chiroo, chiroo," she hummed, setting off towards the main compound. Upon reaching the building, she shmooshed her face against one of the windows. "Hallo! I don't see any lamps." She conceded to going through the door.

The blast of air conditioning was very nice, so she just stood there in the doorway for a second with her hands on her hips. "I have arrived," she announced, and then went inside.

She inspected each little pedestalled lightbulbthing, occasionally climbing amongst and onto the other visitors. They were all rather, ah, conventional for dear Prisma, though. She did love lamps, and these were certainly very lovely, but the lighting in her life had always lacked a certain, uh, dazzle.

Suddenly! Just when she had started to despair (with gnashing of teeth and everything)! She saw a rather large tank over in the corner. In fact, it appeared to be blocking the window she'd been spying through before.

"Fate!" Prisma screamed. A few other visitors joined in.

She scuttled over to the tank and climbed up one of the walls, whereupon she perched precariously on the edge to peer within. "Bulbs!" she declared, and fished around for one. Then she stopped, because it's generally not wise to grab at unexplained electric appliances operating within filled fishtanks.

But then she remembered that she wasn't really all that wise, so she went back to doing it. "Gotcha!" She cried, catching at the one she'd had her eye on. It was very pretty, indeed. "I dub thee Yablochkov, merlamp. You can be Blotch, for short."

She snuggled for a bit, then declared it to the world.

"World," she said, "This is Blotch. Il est ma--he is my new lampthing!"