[TG Caption] The Locket Chooses a Neckline

I fasten the antique locket over my borrowed shirt because Aunt Lydia insists every man in our family tries it once. The chain tightens before I can laugh. My collar folds into midnight-blue satin, my waist draws inward beneath my palm, and dark curls tumble across skin that was flat a moment ago. Lydia watches from the doorway as if she has been waiting years for this exact expression. She tells me the locket does not invent a woman. It gives shape to the choices its wearer has been making in secret.