The brief was a single sentence, written on the back of a train ticket. What would quicksilver smell like if it were gentle?
Four winters and three hundred and twelve trials. Most were too cold. A few were too kind. One was both at once, and that was the one we kept.
Cold as a coin.Warm as a hand.
On skin it keeps moving. Bright at eight in the morning, soft by noon, close to a secret by midnight.