Over a sea of grief, Scarlet died. Above her dying mind were fossilfied memory imprints of her favorite day. For a minute, I stayed watching this brilliant display, Until a god with a broom came and swept them away. In their bereavement, all of her colorful friends turned to a milky-grey depressing blend, Which incidentally made Grey feel inane, so he set off to find a less trite identity, One as stunning and bold as Scarlet used to be.