The lachrymose windows held a blurred world of colours in them. These colours seemed to be in a state of constant movement, and no two colours were the same. She would have killed to store those colours in little bottles – to watch them endlessly. And yet, because she was powerless, she could do nothing but, sit by the windows that held the world of colors in them, separated from them by the weeping glass, and watch them get on with their lives.
Suddenly, like waking up from a deep slumber, she got up from her seat and strode into the next room to take a look at herself in the mirror. She stared at the mirror, scrutinizing the her in the mirror trying to figure out what colour she appeared to be. She had hoped to be a bright red that screamed “I am alive!”but was greeted by a jeering grey, mocking her. The more she stared, the more she became convinced that the grey was holding the crimson beauty a captive – a damsel in distress in the tower of the wicked grey witch. The red damsel begged to be set free – it was as clear as broad daylight.
There was no time to waste. She quickly looked around, and found a razor. A razor was more than enough to save the damsel, she reckoned. She cut a long streak along her arm; long enough for the captive to escape. The grey witch howled in protest, but she didn’t pay attention. Must have been the effect of being locked up for a long time, the red damsel was a bit hesitant to come out of her refines. But once she tasted freedom she let go of her inhibitions and flowed out and defeated the grey witch.
She took a look at herself in the mirror once again. And this time she was not disappointed. She was red – a dark pulsing red. She was finally like the other colours in the world the windows held inside them.