Candy melts..
It had been a year since the pit fell quiet.
A year since the war-born mist ceased to crawl past borders. A year since the man once feared as the dark heretic chose to protect rather than consume.
And yet, none of them forgot who he was.
The train hissed with slow, synthetic breath, its pink hull reflecting the cotton skies above. A magnificence of the Pink Kingdom's creative engineering, the locomotive ran on condensed sugar fuel and clattered across jelly cushioned rails that never cracked, only bent . Each week it carried goods, messages, and, recently, the most dangerous man in Chromatina.. and the smallest hope.
He sat alone.
The polished glass of the candy carriage reflected a pale face, gaunt, yet unchanged. Jet black eyes half-lidded under a tired brow, scarf bundled at his throat to muffle the world's noise. He wore the same layered black: jacket, sweater, and obviously pants. Around him, the other passengers leaned subtly away, whispering beneath layers of fake politeness.
Mothers pulled children closer. A soldier kept his hand on a pipe baton. A merchant tried not to stare at the white-haired infant sitting beside him, lazily tracing the window with a sticky hand.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
He hated this color the most. Hated everything it represented. Love. Romance. Connection. Such abstract nonsense wrapped in ribbons and perfume. The Pink Kingdom was built on sentiment, a place where marshmallow hearts were sold in jars and apologies were dipped in chocolate.
And yet, it was the safest.
That was the instruction he had been given from the Council: 'Keep her somewhere where your twisted morality won't let her die.'
And they had chosen Pink.
As the train slid to a stop in the kingdom's capital, a gentle voice rang out overhead: "Now arriving at Rosabel Station. Please watch your step, and enjoy your stay, don't forget to share hugs, kisses and most importantly.. love!!"
He didn't listen, even intentionally ramming his foot onto the stairway as a hint of stubbornness to what the voice said.
He rose, lifting the little girl from the seat beside him. She yawned, curling against his chest. One year old and already stronger than he expected. She hadn't spoken yet, though she giggled like a bell chime when he tripped on his own words. That morning, she had said "da," and it nearly killed him, it nearly made him spit his own black guts.
He stepped onto the gumdrop platform.
Pink guards offered no salute, only hard stares. Civilians parted like oil in sugar water. One clutched a heart-shaped charm as he passed. Another muttered a prayer to the Seven.
He walked through it all.
And arrived at the kindergarten.
It was a circular building made of marshmallow bricks, roofed in red licorice, with stained sugary glass windows depicting stories of ancient lovers and laughing Overlords. On the front lawn, tiny children chased each other, laughing over lollipop hoops and candied chalk.
He looked down at her -at the child he didn't want- and sighed.
The door opened.
Out stepped a pink girl, as tall as him, her skin was deep, warm brown. Her hair- Bright green with colorful candy decorations, whipped cream, sprinkles, a cherry, and a tiny ice cream cone nestled in her fluffy curls. Her eyes- only one is visible, large, her pupil as thin as it could get with a whimsical swirl pattern under her eye. Her mouth had a big, toothy grin showing off expressive sharp teeth that added a mischievous vibe.
"Ah! You're early," she said, bowing her head slightly, never fully making eye contact.
"I like early," he replied.
The child hesitated. Then held out her arms.
He looked down at the child again. "You be good."
Little Rose Chuckled, reaching up at the woman.
As he handed her over, a strange hollowness gripped his chest. He hated this place- Despised it- but her eyes lit up every time she came here. Somehow, in this pink fever dream, she felt.. safe. Like any other kid in Disneyland.
The caretaker spoke gently yet professionally. "I'll feed her.. then after- comes art and naptime. We'll have her ready for her next appointment."
He nodded, curt.
"She's growing strong, such a fierce one. I came to believe she really likes it here." The girl eyed him, gently holding the Baby that was now pulling onto her hair.
"She doesn't know better," he replied, her expression showing that of disgust.
"Darlin'~ Children can sense what no other color can. If she finds it safe, then it is safe- for her or her father. This city," she twirled a curl between her fingers, "welcomes all colors alike, whether they shine or sulk."
She gently lowered the toddler inside the enclosed play area, watching as the child sprang forward with ravenous murderous intent toward a rubber candy-shaped chew toy. The little white comet babbled as she bulldozed with a scream past two startled Pink toddlers who had foolishly claimed it as their own, amateurs gonna feel the true wrath of the white baby.
He watched quietly before sinking into a nearby seat, the weight of the day- and perhaps more.. pulling at the corners of his eyes. His fingers interlocked, elbows on knees, his mind already halfway back in Yellow where his silence had a room.
The Pink girl slid beside him on the bench, her purse swaying like a pendulum before she let it rest on her lap. Her gaze, however, stayed fixed on the glass separating them from the crawling chaos.
"Do tell, darling.. you've started looking rather-" She tilted her head theatrically. "Pale."
A beat. She giggled. "I mean, more than usual. You keeping up with your diet? Or have you been trying to live off goth and darkness?"
He exhaled sharply, hiding the ghost of a smirk behind one palm as if to punish his face for such betrayal.
She saw it. Of course she did. "Aha! A smile from him! Quick, someone call the Novelty! I think we're witnessing the end of our own era!!"
Her laughter was a tune of bells and razors.
Then her voice dropped, softer, almost sincere.
"The girl gets all the buzz. But what about you, Mister Monochrome? You're still alive, aren't ya?" She tapped a finger on her thigh. "Even your shadow's gotta want something. So tell me- what is it you seek, hmm?"
He leaned back, posture loose now, like a curtain had been drawn. His tone returned to its usual cool, despite hating those people, this one seemed to try and match his demeanour.
"The Hive," he said smoothly. "My real family. My whole journey is just.. to satisfy them. Every black thread I follow, I do for their song. One day, the world gonna black.. once and for all."
A brief silence.
Then she snorted. "Now that was the worst answer I've heard all week, and I spent three hours listening to a toddler explain the economy in drools and burps."
She showed her toothy grin, dimmed her eyes. "You know, you could always help me out at the festival if you're feeling aimless. Winner gets the Sweets title and a hefty sack of money! I could use a dark, broody assistant with mysterious eyes and a crippling fear of joy!"
He rose from his seat.
"No thanks," he said dryly. "I'll pass on the sugar parade."
She stuck her tongue out with exaggerated offense. "Suit yourself! But if you keep acting like a corpse, I will enter you as an exhibit!"
It was a quick journey in the same old train. The streets back to Yellow were unusually quiet, bathed in a faint apricot dusk. The chatter of Pink faded into static behind him. As he walked, he felt it again- a low gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. A strange pressure he'd dismissed before.
Hunger?
Not the kind food resolved. Not really. More like.. absence. An ache not entirely his.
He slowed. His hands twitched.
The whisper of temptation passed over his shoulders like wind through ash. He shoved it down, as he always had. The rules were clear. No harm to Colors. Not even a scratch. Not now. Not soon.
Still.. the sensation clung.
He quickened his pace. The luxury towers of Yellow glittered ahead like polished teeth opulent, towering reminders of what he wasn't allowed to be.
And behind his calm, something inside him stirred.
Yellow rose before him like a kingdom dipped in molten gold, its spires sharp, clean, perfect. The streets were swept twice daily. Even the shadows here seemed to behave.
He walked among them as a ghost might drift through a ballroom, present, but never truly seen. Stares came in waves. Children were pulled closer to their mothers yet again, a classic that occurred whenever he passes by. Some whispered. Others spat quietly to the side.
The Black. The one who was once the end of color itself. Now caged in flesh, collared by politics and trapped in a situation his own dear family put him in.
The guards at the inner gates stiffened when they saw him, as they always did. One reached for his weapon just enough to make it known. A reminder.
He raised his hands mockingly. "Careful now. I bite."
Then, with a smirk: "Unless you have more feathers on the inside than it is on the outside."
No one laughed.
They let him pass.
He reached the building the council had granted him, a sunlit tower that gleamed too brightly for his taste, as if the walls were trying to burn away his presence. Inside, the polished floors and warm lighting did little to ease the tightening in his chest.
Elevator. Fifth floor. Long hallway. Room 911.
He stepped inside.
And only then did he allow the mask to fall.
He staggered to the nearest wall and pressed both palms to it, breathing ragged. That sensation- that pull- was stronger here. This place, their place, didn't want him. The shard bound to his soul pulsed faintly beneath his skin, cold as the grave.
A punishment. A tether.
He collapsed into the chair by the window and exhaled, watching the city bustle far below. So many colors. So much warm blood.
And his? Still black.
The ache returned- not hunger now, but thirst. A thrum in his throat. A burn behind his eyes. The Hive's song was distant, like something underwater, muffled and begging.
He clenched his jaw. The council didn't understand. They couldn't. He hadn't asked for food because he didn't trust what they'd feed him. Who knew what poison they'd lace it with, some microscopic moral lesson baked into bread and honey.
So he starved. Proudly. Silently.
He tilted his head back. His thoughts drifted, again, to the Pink girl. That grin. That voice. Like something out of an old radio that refused to die.
"I could use a dark, broody assistant.."
He spat on the ground, shook his head. She was a fool, how dare she mock him, lower him to that image of hers. But perhaps.. she was not the worst kind.
He hadn't moved for hours.
The hunger clawed at his gut like fire beneath stone, gnawing, relentless, alive. He sat against the wall, sweat slicking his pale skin as thoughts he should not have entertained whispered like sirens through the cracks in his discipline.
The girl. The White.
A drop of her blood..
Just a taste. Pure. Untouched. It would silence the ache. It would bring clarity.
His fangs burst through, sudden and sharp, rending through his clenched jaw. His breath hitched. He slammed his head back into the wall hard enough to crack the paint.
"No."
He snarled, voice like gravel.
The day passed in pieces. He would fall apart -literally- fingers turning to ash, his back folding and bursting into tendrils, only to reconstitute, reform. Flesh melted off the bone, only to regrow in twitching, painful spurts. His body scattered itself across the room, slithering back together every hour like a puzzle made of black tar.
By sundown, he was barely a man, barely a person.
The elevator stopped on the fifth floor with a cheerful ding.
Pink stepped out with a bounce, the baby cradled against her chest, wide-eyed and babbling softly as always.
"Now now, my sugarplum," she cooed to the child. "Time for Mister Broody Brood to show some manners~ We bring gifts of glitter and giggles!"
She approached the apartment door, ajar.
Her smile twitched.
"Well. That's unsettling."
She gently set the child down to the side, brushing a strand of hair from her face as her usual grin faded into something.. sharper.
With slow steps, she pushed the door fully open.
The apartment was dim. The furniture was skewed. Scratches etched into the walls. Shards of black scattered like dried paint. The air was thick. Wrong. She could hear the sounds as he breathed, the sounds of vomit echoing through her drums.
She reached the kitchen.
He was there.
On the ground, his claws sunk into a wooden chair leg, chewing on it like an animal in starvation. His back heaved. His skin steamed.
Two horns had sprouted from his head, jagged like broken branches. A tail, long, spined, and twitching, curled in the corner behind him, tense and feral.
He looked up at her, frozen.
His voice cracked. "Don't- run, please.."
Pink didn't move.
"I-I didn't ask them for food. I don't trust them. I don't trust anyone. And now-" His jaw trembled. "Now I don't know what's worse. The hunger or the fear that I'd hurt her."
He collapsed forward, fists shaking.
"I didn't want this.. I want to go back to my family, my siblings, my brothers-"
Pink stared for a beat. Then smiled.
Not mocking. Not cruel.
But wide and warm, understanding and bright.
She knelt. "Oh honey bun.. sounds like you're famished."
She rolled up her sleeve without hesitation and extended her arm. "Drink. But only a sip now. We're not quite dinner date close yet."
He blinked. "Why would you..?" his eyes travelling from her arm up to her eyes.
"Because you're something, like all of us," she said softly. "And because you didn't bite her- Of course, if I had to choose, I'd rather lose a teeny tiny bit of blood than watch a year of hard work crumbling down.. I- understand how that feels."
He stared at her for a long second, then closed his eyes. He attacked, he drank slowly, carefully. Enough to regain himself, not enough to take. She didn't defend, she didn't push. She surrendered, her hand resting on his head, feeling as the horns dug back into his skull.
From the hallway, a soft babble.
White had crawled in unnoticed. She'd found a small cloth doll tucked near the corner and was dragging it proudly behind her.
She spotted the pair and waddled up, dropping the doll at their feet, then sat with a thump beside them. She didn't cry or stare. Just.. learned.
As if she'd always known they'd be here like this.
Pink, pale and swaying slightly, her eyes more closed than they are open, leaned her head on his shoulder. Blood- warm- was leaking through her sleeves down to her hand, pink as her name.
"I won't tell," she whispered. "But you owe me.. sugar cubes and festival candy."
He chuckled dryly, his tears absorbed by her dress. "Deal."
And there they sat.
A moment of deserved vulnerability.
A devil. A mother. A child.
Wrapped in shadows.. and something almost like peace.
Morning light spilled through cracked blinds.
The apartment was quieter now.. not peaceful, but calmer, like a storm that had exhausted itself in the night.
Black stood, shoulder blades still twitching from the phantom ache of transformation. His skin, once volatile, now seemed steady.. for now.
Across the room, Pink was humming while folding tiny clothes. The baby was busy attacking a pillow as if it were a sworn enemy.
"Careful, darling," Pink warned playfully, hoisting the child up before she could tumble off the couch. "You're gonna out-bite your dad soon at this rate."
Meanwhile, he stretched his arm unnaturally- a thin tendril of black weaving through the air to pull a wall-mounted frame back into position. Another stretch fixed the jagged curtain rod. A third swept the mess into one neat corner.
"Impressive," she commented, arching a brow as she watched him repair the place like it was instinct. "You know, if you weren't cursed, terrifying, and deeply emotionally stunted, you'd make a fine housewife."
He gave a dry snort. "High praise, coming from a sugar-crazed gremlin."
She bowed. "Guilty as charged."
They made their way downstairs, the baby cooing happily in Pink's arms, bouncing with every step.
The early sun cast a soft gold across the street. A few pink locals passed by, cautious but not as fearful as they had been a year ago. Not entirely. Not anymore.
Pink stood in front of him now, facing him directly.
"I'll have to close the kindergarten," she said gently.
His brows furrowed.
"I'm starting something of my own- private, bigger, and way more chaotic. I'll be moving around, disappearing for a while while I set it all up. I already told the council I'd inform you in person."
She smiled at the child in her arms, brushing a curl from the girl's forehead before handing her to her adoptive father.
"They'll be moving you to Blue. Underwater. Safer. Secluded. Quiet. Should be easier for her there. They'll have a home ready within the week."
She bent down, pressing a kiss to the baby's temple, then one more to her small knuckles. "Be good, little sparkle. And try not to eat furniture like your father."
He watched, frozen. Her words drifted like music, but something.. something inside his chest twisted.
She turned to him now, eyes glimmering.
"You've been tolerable," she said with a wink. "And don't worry. I won't tell anyone you cried when you bit a chair."
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
"I-" But nothing followed.
She walked away without letting the silence linger, each step measured and light. Like it was just another day. Just another goodbye.
He stood still.
His chest ached. But it wasn't hunger. Not the black creeping inside him. It was something warm. Sharp. Confusing.
Is this.. from her blood?
An effect? A bond?
Or.. did I just let someone go?
Someone I never wanted to lose?
A Pink color out of all?
He blinked, snapped out of his haze, and looked up.
Her dress was vanishing around the corner, a trail of pink disappearing into the noise of the waking city.
And before he could reason with himself, he found his legs moving. One step. Then another. Following.
To the train station.
Just to see.
Just to make sure.
Just to feel it again..
Even if only for a moment.