- Vol. 05
- Chapter 08
Even a light spray of gold is bad for the pores, preventing free transit of the finest perspiration.
When it runs like clarified butter over hands, the thinnest eyelids, it’s worse than that; all light comes back – yellow.
Her eyes are closed against the blue and green, only egg yolk or a Rocher wrapper coats a harvest daydream.
Mother says wash it off, before it sets.