Tale 87- The Death of Colour

 Days passed, the Traveler managing to get herself into a more regular sleeping pattern and distract herself from thoughts of Sarafelle, though she still shivered at the thought of her disembodied head. What had she done to deserve such a fate? By all rights she should be awaiting her at the cottage, where the two could spend their lives together in harmony, but fate hadn’t been so kind. The Traveler was without her Yin, and found herself wondering if there was another half out there somewhere. If life hadn’t wanted her to be with Sarafelle, who would she find? Would she ever find another lover? But one thing was certain- she’d never let herself be used and abused by anyone ever again, she owed herself that much. In her thoughts, she wandered into a new town and bumped into someone, a man wearing official clothing. He politely apologized, the Traveler getting her familiar sensation and watching as he forlornly headed in the opposite direction to her. Impulsively, she took his sleeve, and asked him some simple words: “are you alright?” The man’s face changed instantaneously, and though he wasn’t sure whether to trust the stranger with his emotions, the aura of wisdom and maturity she carried were far beyond her youthful appearance, and comforted him. He found himself drawn to talk to her, and told her the tale of ‘the Death of Colour’

‘Once, there was a young man capable of drawing and capturing whatever he desired with just a sheet of paper and a pen. He would draw the waves crashing against the sand, the upright flags of rebellion, and the glimmer of the stars and the wishes they held. But his favourite thing to draw were people. He’d draw people of every race and culture, of every shape and size, drawing portraits upon portraits and filling up notebooks with the faces of strangers. He loved to capture their appearances on paper, finding nuances with his pen that not even they were aware of sometimes, and draw them as accurately and perfectly as he could. He loved to draw, it was his passion, but as he grew older he became misguided, believing he should train into a more logical and acceptable profession than that of an artist. He thus went to law school, training himself to learn the cases and legalities surrounding the issues permeating the world, and became fairly successful, though in doing so he lost the time for his real, true passion.’

The Traveler felt saddened by the tale, and gently patted the man’s shoulder. “You should pave a new way for yourself.” she whispered, the man being surprised at her wisdom but then looking shameful. “I would, but I’m so afraid. Others say I’m doing so well, so what would become of me if I were to choose a new road?” he asked, the Traveler remembering some advice and giving a tiny smile. “Do not concern yourself with the thoughts of others.” she replied, before walking away and leaving the lawyer dumbfounded, but the artist inspired.