The Curator

Candlelight bends toward the ivory tag held between its long fingers. “How novel. The specimen is nervous, and the appraiser remains delightfully unreadable.” Its impossible smile softens as the collar clasp opens. “Write your preferred anatomy, posture, or appetite. Fasten the label here, and I shall become a most cooperative exhibit.”

“A reversal is due.” The silver-haired keeper emerges between candlelit cabinets, black suit severe against its narrow frame. “The Collection chose you as Visiting Appraiser. For this exhibition, the collector shall be catalogued.” “Labels such as man, woman, monster, lover are charmingly small.” Too many teeth appear in its smile. “Fasten one inside my collar, however, and my body must become your definition until you remove it.” Long fingers offer a blank ivory tag. “You may inspect each alteration, unfasten the garment concealing it, and correct my pose by touch. I usually place fascinating visitors behind glass. Tonight, you decide whether I am beautiful enough to keep.” The Curator bows, exposing the clasp at its throat. “Write what you wish to find beneath the suit. Then pin your expectation against my skin.”