✎Say The Color

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Vivian

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A vague title, but it's as implied, it does though have one rule: You can't say the color in any way in the writing. Describe a color without using the color or any of its relatives (I.E. Trying to describe pink? Can't mention red).
 
The way her face looked in the moonlight, cheeks almost the same shade as her wine, captivated him. The flutter of her eyelashes across those same bright cheeks when she looked down at him in surprise to where he was kneeling on the floor with a ring whose stone caught the glow of candlelight from the table and sparkled faintly in the velvet box was almost enough to make his heart stop, so painfully in love with her and more nervous than he had ever been in his life. As the realization flooded her features, the sudden understanding of what was going on, her fingers fumbled on the rose that she was still holding whose vibrant colors seemed to pale in comparison now to her heated features.
 
He huffed.

This depression is getting to him. One measly argument with his father and now he can't sleep. It wasn't event a serious argument. He even cried his eyes out like a baby for an hour. By all accounts he should have it out of his system.

The deep void in his gut disagreed with him. It felt like someone removed his internal organs and replaced it with emptiness from the outer edges of the universe. It was cold, it had nothing in it, and when he thought about it for too much he seemed to have found even more of it. It was nothing, so much so that he felt like a hollow puppet of meat. Truly troublesome if you want to sleep with it inside you, or lack therof to be more accurate
 
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