Gray Matter -

He unscrewed the cap. The smell of linseed oil hit the air—a sharp, nostalgic sting. He squeezed the blue onto Clara’s palms. In the sea of ash, the pigment looked like a fallen star. It was so intense it almost hurt to look at.

"Keep it moving," Elias urged, his own voice cracking with rediscovered grit. "Color isn't a thing you have, Clara. It's a thing you do." Gray Matter

The Gray Matter didn't just take color; it took the feeling associated with it. Without red, there was no rage or passion. Without yellow, no warmth or caution. The world was becoming quiet, polite, and entirely hollow. He unscrewed the cap

Elias watched from the window as the first spark of blue moved through the gray tide. He picked up a charcoal stick. He had no more paint, but he finally remembered how to draw the light. In the sea of ash, the pigment looked like a fallen star