• I wasn’t stupid. Or maybe I was.
    He called me and I answered. I opened the door and I waited.
    I knew perfectly well what was coming.
    It was a white room, flawless, one shade. It was strange, like being in a separate world of white. You couldn’t even see the lines were the room was connected, probably obscured by magic. There was a single chair in the middle of the room, a strong, ebony back.
    Taking one step forward, I took in the sound of my heels on the floor.
    There was none. It was ironic, really, that I had chosen to wear black. Black dress, black heels, black-rimmed glasses…I was the outcast in this pure white room. My very genetics that gave me black hair made my very being an outcast. I was an outcast with that black chair.
    And I joined it, lowering myself into it, waiting. No windows, nothing interesting to look at. No sound, nothing interesting to listen to.
    No clock to tell me how much time I had left.
    I stayed in one position, not moving, except the rising of breath in my chest, the fluttering blinking of my eyelids.
    Until finally, he appeared before me.
    He was dressed in white. Off white, because it would have been creepy if he had blended in perfectly with the room. His colorless hair messy as always. He didn’t look any different at all.
    There was a silence, or at least, the silence continued because there had not been any noise to begin with.
    I didn’t move, until finally, I brushed my ebony hair out of my eyes.
    “What do you want?” I asked, and my voice was quiet, but it was like shattering glass in this white room, shattering the peace. I was an outcast, I did not belong here, dressed in black, as this chair did not belong here either. My voice, belonging to me, did not belong in this room, and so it sounded, simply, that it did not belong here.
    There was no greeting, there was no exchange of smiles or familiarity, just coldness, coldness and broken silence, and broken bonds. Broken shards of glass.
    He did not answer me straight away, he did not move, from the moment he entered, his head was tilted downward, refusing to meet my eyes, my dark eyes, no matter how much I stared at him his colorless liquid eyes refused to meet mine.
    There was no clock to tell me how much longer I would have to wait.
    Until again, finally, he mumbled something I could not hear. His voice did not shatter the room as mine did, for he belonged here, he belonged here down to his very shadow, very existence.
    I was becoming impatient. “What?” I asked impatiently, my voice, again, did not belong. I was like the dark, thick mist that crept up and broke and shattered the light. My voice did not sound beautiful and musical, as his did. My voice sounded disgustingly muddy and dirty, it sounded like the image of a child treading mud onto his mother’s beautiful white carpet, bringing a handful of bugs and dead birds and other foul things into her beautifully kept living room.
    Again, low mumbling, I could not hear. “Speak up,” I told him, irritation in my voice. “I cannot hear you. Tell me clearly what you want, Clandestine.”
    He looked at me, colorless eyes burning, contorted into pain, contorted and torn between affection and loyalty. “I WANT YOU, DAMMIT!” he screamed, punching the white wall, voice ringing beautifully. “There’s nothing else…I would want…”
    “Lies.” I told him. The answer was swift, cruel. He looked at me, pained. “You want to remain loyal to Achromatic. That is already something else.”
    “Luzerne…please…” he tried, “I can’t…I am…I belong…”
    “Yes,” I replied. “Please, Luzerne, love me back. I cannot leave Achromatic, because I am achromatic, I am one of them. I belong here.”
    “Yes,” he whispered, and I could still here him, meters away. Because he belonged here.
    “Your loyalty runs deeper than your love for me. And you are loyal to those who are like you. And that is why you are here, that is why you called me, that is why you brought me here, and that it why you will commit murder today.”
    Eyes widening, he looked surprised. “Yes,” he whispered again.
    I laughed, a disgusting sound in this room, like a mother killing her child, a mother stabbing her child repeatedly with a knife.
    “You can’t even bear to hear me laugh. You belong to Achromatic as I belong to Chroma, Clandestine. Achromatic is what you chose. So will you kill me here? Will you kill me now?”
    I crossed my legs, spread out my hands, smiled.
    “Well, Clandestine Heliotropium?”
    I stood, and attempted to use magic. Chains materialized and I was instantly hanging. I did not look up to see from where I was suspended, or where the chains were attached. The color of the metal was not silver, but of course, white.
    “I thought I told you I never wanted to hear my full name, Luzerne Zephyranthe…”
    Weak. His voice was weak. His resolve was weak. His action were weak. His mind was weak.
    He was weak.
    Not a coward. Only weak. Too weak. Fragile. Strong in the organization of Achromatic, but weak in his being. His very name of Clandestine meant concealed love. And his being was sealed with Heliotropium—the intoxication of love.
    I was strong. Strong in both the organization of Chroma, and strong in my very existence. Luzerne meant life. Zephyranthe meant fond caresses. I was loved. He wanted to be loved. We wanted each other. Our wishes could not be granted.
    “You cannot kill me,” I told him.
    He stared at me, and I stared back. “We cannot kill each other,” we both croaked.
    He walked forward, the exact middle of the room. The white chains shattered and released me. I met him in the middle. Our fingers touched, and interlocked. Our lips brushed, and met. Our love tried to connect, and shattered.
    “Colorfy,” I whispered, and the room began to suffuse. It was like paint, spilling everywhere, dripping; only it was a soft light that permanently colored the walls.
    “Erasify,” He breathed, and our spells pressed against each other, my color disappearing as if an invisible line prevented it from going any further than a limit. Exactly half of the room was colored, the half I stood on. Exactly one room was white, the side which he was located. The line between where our shoes touched separated us.
    Color was strong against colorless. Colorless was strong against color.
    Both had to exist. Neither could cease to.
    This meant that both he and I had to continue to exist. Both he and I had to carry the pain and memories of our shattered bond. Both he and I had to grow stronger.
    “When the times come that we shall face each other…” I said, my voice beautiful in my painted space. This was where I belonged. I did not shatter the space here, my voice belonged as did my very being.
    “…We shall wait for the outcome then,” he answered, and we both smiled.
    I turned, he turned. Tears did not run down my cheeks as they did his.
    I walked, he walked. I was strong I as did so. He sobbed silently with each step. There was a doorway on opposite ends.
    I stepped through, he stepped through.
    He locked his sorrow away as he stepped out of the room, as I did not. He continued to walk returning to where he belonged, emotions hidden. I stopped and sobbed, emotions open.
    Our hearts lamented in agony, reaching for each other, failing to come near one another.
    We were torn, torn and shattered to bloodied dust.
    And no one understood or could possibly answer the one question that we both had screamed in torment and anguish…
    Why was our love so simply unable to be?