Word count: 389
Colours
She woke up to a world of muted colours.
And silence. It was a silence bonded to the white-grey fog surrounding her; it pressed upon her gently, like a soft, moist pillow. Had she leaned forward, and tasted with her tongue, her thirst would have been quenched. She raised one arm, looking at it with concentrated blue eyes, soft flush lips agape with wonder. Her pale skin glowed translucent in the mist, and slowly, she dragged one finger along its length, following the thin violet veins.
Grass. Green, and smudged looking. No matter how many times she blinked, it still looked blurry; they stood still, edges masked by the silent grey mist. The world felt small, for once, like she was the only one there, but somehow, somewhere, there was another presence she couldn't see. Watching her. And it gave her peace.
Still…there was a flutter in her heart that fluctuated, and wouldn't cease. Dazed, the young woman looked down at her fingers, nudging them with dull senses, making the pink fingernails twitch. Something…still there. The word dislodged itself from the back of her mind, echoing in her ears, making her shudder and bring the entire world back into sharp, unbearable focus.
Dilandau.
Her eyes widened, panic darkening her pupils. She suddenly noticed a raw ache in her throat, like the feeling one got after screaming for a long time. Her fingers quivered, causing the blurry tops of the grass to shake.
She ripped it out brutally, reflexes instant. The silence was still there, but somehow it had become inconsequential, nothing more than a dream she couldn't remember. Jaw tense, she leered at the blades of grass clutched in her hand, incapable of tolerating the life in them. Kill them. Kill them now.
And so, with vicious, sadistic fingers no longer reminiscent of a princess, she tore them apart, until the tiniest bits scattered to the wind and the rest was a brown, lumpy pulp stained in her palms.
Shh. Someone was speaking to her; she strained to hear it, desperation pushing her to her feet, but the words were gentle, and before long, she'd fallen down again, smoothing her hair, kneeling, and straightening into a posture she'd known forever. She placed her filthy hands on the white, clean fabric of her dress.
And the world became grey, again.