PREVIEW

... something long buried—something terrible.

Colorless

Aira's world had become colorless.

No—not in the poetic sense. Not some melancholic exaggeration born of sadness. No, this was real. Visceral. All-consuming.

The trees were not brown or green or gold; they were pale silhouettes etched against a sky that had forgotten what blue was. The wind moved through them like breath through a corpse—soundless, scentless, meaningless. The birds no longer sang ...

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