KING A OR Zion Brown
Blue claimed the face of Water. Green claimed that of Spring, Orange and yellow fought for Stars. Purple settled proudly into Royalty, While White delicately took on Snow And Black embraced Night. So, by default, someone had to be the one to suffer. The exiled. The one who’d only ever grow to know carnage as a lullaby. Red.
Then, Red was Brick. Hands roughened by war’s jagged edges, by the plight of sufferers Heart hardened by the infinite mantle it took up, tyrannical towards its older, virtuous being Forced to abandon its quiet, rich reveries of things pleasant and sweet to the mind. Then, Red was Rust. Decaying and degrading and devolving. A product of too much time and even more plentiful neglect. Its touch scarring, coldly and unashamedly lethal. Then, Red was Lava. Searing and unbounded, its only goal self-satisfaction. Illuminated its own destruction with a captivating, undiluted fury. Plowed over the ruins it made, all to eagerly and hungrily do it again. Then, Only then, Red was Blood.
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