Black. She hated the color black. It was the symbolic hue of death and hatred, and what had killed her parents. Sleek, shiny, metallic black hands had murdered her parents, ripped their lives from their bodies. Yes, black was a dreaded and hateful color.
Now pink. She loved pink. It was the symbol of love and affection, the hue of the most beautiful roses, the light spots that were sprinkled throughout the sunrise and set. Pink was what had saved her from black, had dissolved that metallic black and avenged her mother and father. Pink was a soft, cute, delightful color!
When she'd become an Exorcist, she had politely burned the received black uniform to ashes and stated that her only condition to stay at the Black Order was to wear only, well, pink. But her partner had a problem with that.
"Rose," a white haired European youth huffed at the pinkly dressed girl beside him, "you'll be spotted from miles away."
"Oh please Allen," she scoffed, a petite hand adjusting the rose accented clip in her hair. "You worry too much."
"I'm practical," Allen Walker protested before blushing, Rose's lips pressed lightly to his cheek, staining his cheeks with pink.
Yes, how Rose loved the light red color.
