Squid ink burst from her eyes and left her in a deep darkness. The sun hung helplessly on the edge of the horizon like a used towel, its rays dripping off of her face, forgotten. Drunk and whispering, the moon smiled but the shine hit the ink and fizzled. She wouldn’t see no more, day or night, not even with a light bulb plugged directly into her forehead.
She would lie down then, and dream. The ink didn’t burn now and if she relaxed red pyramids would rise from the blackness and she could watch the Shadow Men go about their heckling and hustling. They would never touch her. Her sweat stank and they kept away. She could find all the light in her blood and walk it straight into their bazaar and not a one would even show her his hands.
The ink dried the next morning as she slept and the birds began to chip away at the crust of her eyes. But she had gone walking in her dreams and wasn’t due back for some time. The rains would wash the ink away. The birds would keep her bones clean. She would come home and find herself changed.