They were a single surface until they were not. In the instant the sister tiles came apart, the pigment tore into an eye — round, cellular, burning — and the fury that had been holding it. The relief is that opening: scale plates, a cracked lakebed, ridges and a tail where the two ceramic bisques sheared.
Tile B kept the coal whole. Ember orange sits dense at the core, ringed in wet indigo then bottle green, the outer skin more intact, a red cap at the brow. Two yellow drops rest above the form, bright as if they had nowhere else to go. Depth without shine.
Tile A kept the night around it. Midnight and peacock teal cracked into plates on the white bisque; the same orange heart shows through the cells, thinner, already weather. A yellow-green ridge lifts at the top. A lime tail slips off the right edge — the silhouette of the pull.
Together they are one glance that would not stay. The orange is the same heart. The yellow found two exits. You feel the tear more than either face: a dragon's eye and its fury, still raised in the clay.
They were one clay when the eye opened. Tile B kept the coal — round, still burning, indigo then green around it, two lemon drops of light, a red cap on the brow. Tile A kept the darker water: midnight plates on white bisque, the ridge of the pull, a lime tail running off the rim. The relief is scale and lakebed. Fury left in the tear. The sisters do not close.
Dragon Eye — Listen
