The world is in shades of black, white, and gray, and Priscilla doesn't even know it.
When she wakes up, she doesn't see the orange of Carlos's jumpsuit, or the purple of his hat.
She doesn't see the scarlet of the blood they spill when they escape the prison, or the teal of the ocean.
She sees gray.
The Saints have been scattered to the wind; her friends are dead and she's a stranger in her own city.
She doesn't see the pink lipstick on the stripper or the dark tan of the beer she sips as she watches the news.
And when she sees Johnny's picture on screen, and even when she breaks him out of jail, she doesn't even see the beige of his skin.
She sees gray.
The first color she sees is red.
Red lips smile at her and impart the name "Shaundi."
The rest of the world is still gray.
She never sees the yellow of the Ronin's shirts, or the green of the Sons of Samedi's hats.
She never sees the Brotherhood's red clothes, and even their crimson blood is lost on her.
But she sees the red of Shaundi's lips.
Red lips wrapped around a cigarette, or coaxing alcohol from a bottle.
Red lips smiling,
Red lips laughing,
Red lips saying her name-
Or, rather, the only name Priscilla ever heard herself called by.
"Boss."
She doesn't see the red, yellow, or green on Veteran Child's hat,
Or the purple lights reflected in his shiny black gun.
She doesn't see the pink flush of his face as he screams at her
But she does see red lips moving feebly,
Trying to call out for help, for her.
Above the red lips are two eyes, crescent slivers of gray peering out from under heavy lids.
She doesn't see the glow of the traffic lights as she speeds through the streets,
Fervently praying that she's not too late.
She only sees gray-
Gray hats, gray clothing, gray walls, gray people.
Black blood spills from gray skin as Veteran Child falls to the floor and red lips smile gratefully, albeit groggily.
"Thanks Boss," they say and Priscilla does something she hasn't in years-
She speaks her own name.
Red lips grin.
"Priscilla," they repeat, and the Boss looks down to see gentle green eyes.
Priscilla's world is like a canvas, and Shaundi is the brush, her presence like paint.
Priscilla's jeep is white-until Shaundi rides in it.
Then it's faded orange.
Priscilla's favorite shirt is gray-until Shaundi wears it to bed one night.
Then it's purple.
The sky is black- until Shaundi holds Priscilla's hand and uses their clasped hands to trace the constellations.
After that the sky is a deep, dark cerulean, and the grass they're lying on is lush and green.
Slowly, Shaundi paints the world for her Boss.
Sometimes the colors don't show up right away, and sometimes colors that were there one day aren't there anymore but Shaundi is patient.
Some days they go out and the city is alive with different shades and hues and everything is bright...
But some days they sit together in the quiet gray, and Priscilla focuses on red lips, green eyes, tan skin,
and that's enough.