The Index wasn't a list of things past. It was a contract. The film, Ranga Ranga Vaibhavanga , was never completed. Its creator had died before "Action!" was called on the final scene. The cast, the colors, the sorrows—they were all trapped in a limbo of anticipation, waiting for the last shot.
Swatches of natural dyes. "Indigo for sorrow. Turmeric for deceit. Crushed cochineal for the blood of a promise." There was a note in the margin: "The final scene requires a sunset no pigment can hold. We shall use fire." index of ranga ranga vaibhavanga
His heart hammered. He opened it.