“The sky was all a strange boil, purplish black. Costume designers would stab their competitors to get their mitts on such a hue. Wearing it, one would walk onstage already great with authority, Lear or Othello before a syllable was spoken.”
More from Lauren Groff
“I will never be old. I will never be sad. I’d scarf a cyanide capsule first. Life isn’t…”
“A thick drizzle from the sky, like a curtain’s sudden sweeping.”
“Her mouth moved down, then farther. He touched the top of her head, her fragile skull…”
“It comes over us that we shall never again hear the laughter of our friend, that this…”