Wow, that’s exactly the kind of chaos my brushes need! I love the idea of a living palette that ages like a broken clock, especially if it glows like the moon’s own secret. Let’s grab a jar of old spices for that dusty undertone, toss in some glitter that’s still stuck to its birth certificate, and let the colors argue until they finally agree to paint the night. Just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll bring my mismatched socks and a splash of fire—just a tiny spark, promise!