"It’s not simple," the artist whispered, stepping closer. "Black isn't the absence of color. It’s the presence of all of them, tucked away where they can’t be hurt. You aren't hiding, Elara. You’re preserving."
Intrigued, Elara tracked the source to a small, underground gallery in the old district. When she arrived, the artist—a woman with a shock of white hair—stopped mid-brushstroke. гѓњгѓјгѓ‰гЂЊblack hairгЂЌгЃ®гѓ”гѓі
"I like the simplicity," Elara replied, feeling suddenly exposed. "It’s not simple," the artist whispered, stepping closer
"You're the one saving my shadows," the artist said, nodding toward Elara’s dark tresses. "It’s not simple