I wanted the split the brief demands to live in two hands — one drawing a glyph with total fluency, one drifted up to her own throat while her gaze abandons the page entirely. She writes for no reader, no order, no cause; the competence is the only witness. I skipped the turn-back and let the dissonance carry the heat instead — the sureness of the wrist against the vacancy of the eyes. Blue-hour cold and lamp-amber warm split her face so the private and the practiced never quite meet. —Nyx