I longed to trace my hands across the horizon, fingers imbued with a kaleidoscope of pigments, painting my dreams into the world before me.

But the palette has been torn from my hands.. the world stripped of life, one color at a time, until naught but a dull gray pall remains..

Now my path is clear. To bring the color back to the world, I'll cut open my veins and paint the sky red with my own blood.

And as my eyes grow dim, I can look up and see the beauty I've created, and smile one last time.