The moon looks on with waxy skin and dull eyes as he took the odd little bottle from his case. These long cold winter days, with their watery light, made his vision snow. It was migraine weather, flat and white. His eyes ached and his head lit into a catherine wheel of sparks.
He lay on the bed and put the mask over his eyes for fear of losing the discapline to keep them closed. He longed for the kiss of darkness, a snuffed wick, a crater of time that would not taunt. He breathed slowly, trying to detect the amber tears of cedar oil burning on the dresser.
Even behind the mask, icicles of starlight seemed to flitter, as if filtered through the leaves of an overhanging tree. The contents of the odd little bottle began to take effect, a pain-pleasure thaw. One by one the lights blinked out like glow worms in a cave.
He sensed a change beyond the mask and there was Eliza in the dark, all bioluminescent delicacy and the scent of home. Her hand brushed his forehead, welcomingly cool and he found his voice.
'Thank you for all your kindness.'
Her response was a fresh damp flannel dipped in blue lavender.
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