In a realm where thoughts took color and emotions became brushstrokes, lived Elara—a being made not of flesh, but of shifting hues and fading outlines. She wandered a blank canvas world, seeking the one color she had never seen: Truth. Each whisper she heard splashed a new shade into the void—doubt was indigo, hope was golden, and fear bled crimson. But Truth? It had no color. It was silence. One day, Elara stood still. No thoughts, no sounds, no searching. In that stillness, the world around her exploded—not in color, but in clarity. She realized the truth wasn't a shade to be painted, but the emptiness between strokes. She vanished, leaving behind the purest white—unmarked, untouched, understood.
