Everybody Needs Colour

prologue

Every week he sits on a white chair in a corner of the hall, watching. I twirl and twirl, sometimes passing him by mistake. We're not supposed to do that. Madame Violet has words with me every time I forget to remain within my assigned space. But I can't help wondering what he's doing here. He never speaks, never smiles, never moves. The only time he does look up is when he hears a faint mewing coming from the window.

I catch his eye sometimes and when I do it feels like it's just us two, alone in this room. But even then, his facial expression doesn't change. His lips are squeezed tight into a line and eyes hard as he keeps the stare intact. Dull clothes, melancholic air. He's strange.

He's...colourless.