Violet in Color

Bueaty at it's finest.

Imagine a world untouched by the gentle yellow of suns first light. A world unpainted by the shocking reds and ruffles of orange clouds that pierce a stirred sky; Where complacency rules in shades of quiet satisfaction, a thousand shades of grey.

That is the world into which Princess Violet was born.

Violet sat with her forehead against the window pane, watching beads of rain trace lines down her soft reflection; halfway staring into the distance, halfway staring into herself.  In one direction stretched The Great Birchwood forest, wich was dotted with small cottages and blurs of passersby that hurried to seek shelter from the storm. In the other direction was a paper ghost, dissolving into the rain, disappearing into the grey. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of cold, wet air, letting it fill her lungs until there was no more. Violet wondered what it would be like to be a drop of rain. " How lovely would it be to disappear into the rain?  how lonely would it be to never see a face again.  Collectively one and separately all, kissing the clouds embracing the fall. If only i were the rain" The warmth of her poem created a film of fog on the glass and violet wrote her poem down into the window, into the rain. If only I were the rain.  But Violet was not the rain. Nor the sun. Nor the sky. She was colorless, for colorless was all she had ever known