The moth’s legs stuck to fabric as it roved over my shroud. It was so small, so without muscle, but it was patient. The moth worked back and forth over my eyes, picking, tugging, until— I felt my shroud fall away. When I opened my eyes, I was no longer looking through gossamer, but the thin, veined wings of the moth. The darkness around me shifted. The world behind the moth’s wings was so full of color it stole my
