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[NightShade]

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Here it was that Shades drawing sat, it was a rudimentary sketch holding a vortex of swirling lines. Within each gap there was the opportunity for color. Yet she was no artist.

She had surveyed young Thoryne now as she sat colored inks in hand stabbing her plume into each color and randomly dotting the page. Each dot was finely tuned next to the next. Soon the dots filled a void as if they had been colored in with swift strokes but with closer inspection you could see it was really a form of pointilism.

None of the dots filled gaps within the lines they stretched perfectly and neatly around the lines. Never daring to touch the inside. Most children followed the conformity of coloring within and a small smile came to Shades lips. Shade now had many *grandchildren* and for a woman who looked no older than 18 perhaps even younger than her own daughter at times, the term did not bother her. She imagined she would see many sets past grandchildren, generations of her progeny to come.

It had enthused her to see what havoc it would bring to this realm, destructive or not, and she had confidence in the genes now unleashed. Touching the reddish brown hair of the child as she worked she thought idly of her green haired grandson. A sense of foreboding filled her.

Thoryne held up the picture complete, now the drawing standing out starkly against the colored background and it was clearly not filled in, compared to the contrast of everythiing outside the lines being colored. Nightshades eyes flickered over the page and the effect of it on her was odd as she felt a sense of calmness where foreboding had been a moment ago.

You are no artist Thoryne, not with a pen, I admire your tenacity for coloring outside the lines I do, and the fact that you see beyond normal ink and pen. What I do not admire is the feeling this evokes from me. Thoryne bit her lip, her grandmother made no sense to her and she simply retracted returning to her room of sharp points and huddling once more in the corner.

Nightshade shook her head the child was odd, but she was not fooled by such sulkiness, and did not admire it. She had an eye on her sister Iris. The one that held blunt objects and used them with force. She smiled, she relished the destructive tendancy of that. She moved on...
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Something is Wrong, I can still feel Existence...