I drew two lines around my wrist. The first was black. The second red. Between the two, i tied a scarlet thread. And as i did a third line formed in purest white, it ran along beside my veins and curled itself around my bones. It flowed into the paths i’d drawn, erasing ink and trading tones. The black was gone. The red turned white. And soon my skin was laced with snow. Wool wove itself around my flesh, peace seeping into soul and lungs. And clothed with Lamb and red-blood thread, i sang for joy, my heart at rest.
