XI. Red
"You don't think this is too…risky?" Leia turned around in front of the mirror, assessing the gown once again.
"Yep. Definitely."
"You're not supposed to agree!"
"But it's true. You just might make me forget me speech."
"You're not helping. I can't."
"Who says?"
"Tradition. Red is too passionate."
She started to remove the dress, but Han caught her hands. "Red is more than that, you know. It's strong. Bright. Independent."
"You're making this up." But her defenses were obviously crumbling. "Red isn't independent."
"It is when you wear it." He kissed her neck, whispered, "And passionate isn't so bad."
XII. Grey
She stands by the fire and watches her perception of evil dissolve in the flames. This isn't how it works in fairy tales. Students don't kill their teachers. Fathers don't torture their daughters. And the villain never saves the day.
The more she learns about this man who was her father, the harder it is to hate him. And yet, she cannot love a nightmare. Maybe it will come with time, like her brother tells her. Not affection, but forgiveness. Respect.
Respect for the human behind the legend. Respect for the fact that only fairy tales are black and white.
XIII. White
White is the hardest color to maintain.
It's what her handmaidens have been telling her for years, but she insists on wearing it. She likes its simplicity. It's a color with nothing to prove. It has other connotations, of course. Purity. Justice. All things honorable.
There are jokes among the men that she's defending her virtue with her snow-white ensemble. However, the last one to question it got a farm boy's fist in the face.
The truth is, her closet needs updating. Everything's dirtied from the mess that is rebellion. She should really find another color.
White stains too easily.
XIV. Black
It feels like the hangover from hell. Except he's totally blind and he's sure last night wasn't fun.
He fights back the panic and waits for the light to return. He's a man who survives keeping both eye open, and this blindness makes him painfully vulnerable.
He's had his share of dark nights. But even in the deepest corners of space, the lowest, un-lit alley, there's always a distant star for direction, a passing light to guide him. He doesn't have the trust to be a blind man.
Then he hears her voice, and he's not alone in the darkness.
XV. Blue
He'd never seen so much of it in one place. A single, rippling expanse of blue that played with the sunlight.
"Is that all…water?"
Han nodded, amused. "Yeah. You can touch it, too."
"Wow." He stepped forward, gingerly placing a foot in the shallows. "It's cold."
"I know," Leia said, with a hint of distaste. She was in past her knees, but showed no interest in going farther.
"Hey, Princess!"
She turned to catch a face full of seawater. With an angry "Han Solo", she returned the favor.
"Guys! How can you waste-"
Twin sprays of water cut him off.