The gold turned the color of old lemon as soon as the shower hit it. Elora cursed and scrubbed at her wrist with the edge of a dish towel until the towel stained. The bangle—Lenora’s bangle, the thin brass thing that had been in every family photo for as long as she could remember—sat cold and smug on her arm, a perfect circle of tarnish and history. She held her phone over the sink and snapped a close-up: water beading on brass, a smear of yellow like someone had watered down a lemon and spilled it over family pride. Caption: When heirlooms have hygiene problems. #MILproblems #vintageorvermin It was cathartic. She posted it to her handful of followers—people who tolerated her food photos, her bad jokes, her dwindling attempts at keeping a life—and waited. The likes came fast enough to make her laugh. A friend from university: "Girl. Burn her with lemon." Her sister-in-law’s college roommate: "This is iconic." The little notifications buzzed against the tile; for the first time all week Elora felt the cheap prick of vindication. Then comments veered. Someone wrote, "where did she even get that?" Someone else: "that's a cheap reproduction. my grandma had one like that." Elora scrolled, fingers warm from the steam. She sipped at an imagined audience, and the kitchen felt slightly larger. A reply popped up three comments down: corpse-bracelet? the account name was @antiquarian_oddities. The comment had no