The collar of a secondhand silk shirt, circa 2024. Ring of foundation powder still visible along the interior fold — beige-pink, oxidized now to rust. The wearer applied makeup after dressing. Rushed, or vain, or both. The stain survived ninety industrial washes before resale. Silk remembers skin. It holds evidence longer than cotton, shorter than wool. Twelve centuries later, I can still see where her jaw ended.