She defines the color.
Pale, translucent, a blonde girl in a (white) dress, seated on a (white) chair, at a (white) desk, in a (white) room.
Her hand is limp, the crayon resting in her palm as she studies it.
Weak.
It's the first thing that comes to mind when she thinks of her color. She doesn't like to admit it, but it's so very true that it almost hurts her.
Being an artist, she noticed it quite early on her non-existence.
Drawing on (white) paper, even the best of the best make mistakes in their sketches. Frowning, she reaches for the (white) crayon, to color over the pink that went over the line. It doesn't work. She tries again, and again, and (again). Doesn't work.
(White) cannot color over other colors. Cannot color over wine red. Or cerulean blue. Or black. Or despising amber. Or silver. Or green eyes filled with contempt. Or pink. (White) cannot win, ever, against any other color.
(White) is weak.
She defines the color.
Therefore, (she) comes to the conclusion that she is weak.
-Dark White Night.
