Work Text:
To create depth in a painting, one must use colour to mark shades in the correct position to be seen in a tolerable way for or against the light source.
Colour is seemingly a mandatory process in a piece to draw across the precise message. Placing blocks of pigment could be seen differently through each eye. Colour is objective and beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
The radiance of stained tint bled through each stroke required for a specific dimension and hues, to make a composition captivating it must have colour. There shall be no naked figures, no chiaroscuro dynamics for it to be considered art.
Yet art is hung up on a wall, for unbeknownst bystanders to disrespect without reading through the lines. Why was the colour there? Is the piece so two-dimensional that it cannot stand on its own without aid or support?
If that’s the case, then she should not have been so captivating. The definition of monochromia, her porcelain hair that glistened, could not have been more devoid of pigment.
That’s why colour is complete and utter bullshit.
Its dyes and tincts are manipulative, a figment of conscious identity. Colour did not have to be a surface-level phenomenon.
If a painting stood without colour, its meaning uncorroded by frivolities then it would be considered beautiful. If a force swept away everything that resembled colour, would the disrespectful bystanders still waste their time flashing their physiognomics?
She was just that, yet forever an anomaly, someone for authority to smash their ideologies into, someone to force into colourful impurities.
Paintings always start out homogenous and it's up to the one behind the canvas to call the shots.
The one behind the canvas was a set of stupid fucking experiments. Everything that had led up to now could be explained by collections of selfish desires within the Honkai.
Elysian Realm was everything Mei thought about colour before she was gone. It was magnificent and colour brought out its best, meticulously chosen by its painter.
Mei thought colour was a way to accentuate features, in fact, she saw nothing of it, just something she saw.
She wonders what Griseo sees in colour, is it as meaningless as Mei has convinced herself to think it is?
Nothing ever slotted together, especially why she fell in love with someone she knew she could not have.
The embodiment of colour, yet so monochromatic.
While experiments forced her to be barren of something she should have, it was all bursting at the seams.
Each hug and smile erupted a flurry of fireworks, each with more stain than the last. She was the one thing that saved Mei from becoming what she hated most.
She was Kiana,
And that thing was her love.
Her feverish passion set Mei ablaze, she was wanted and loved by someone who could never be with her.
Why did she never notice?
Why did she never realise?
Why did it take so long?
To the point where Kiana didn’t love her anymore.
A punch to the face was all it took. Screams and pleas would never silence Mei’s yearning.
She did not regret, she never regret. Someone so monochromatic could never get any more unicolourous.
So it’s just dumb, the only one paying the prices for what she started,
Was Mei.