Len was determined to make her perfect. As wonderful as Rin already was, she was flawed. Her skin was smooth and creamy with a faint hint of peach in her cheeks. Her lips were glossy and crimson, like the color of fresh watermelon. Her flaxen hair glistened like sunlight, light bouncing off of it, leaving it with a glowing spectrum of blue, violet, and gold at the ends. Her eyes, however, were the problem. A deep, sparkling aqua with flecks of an even deeper blue within. As beautiful as they were, they were lifeless.
She was perfect, like a porcelain doll, but her soul was not present. The liveliness, the brashness, the wit; none of it was there. Laughter could not be replicated; the sound of someone's voice could not be replicated. Life could not be replicated.
It was like she was dead. The sad truth remained that she was.
Her perfect little body rested within the earth, trapped by an unappreciated mistress. Her life was over, and the worst part was, it wasn't even her fault.
As for her soul, Len wasn't quite sure. Was she resting in an idyllic heaven, amidst the warmth of a faceless God? The blond boy wasn't so sure. Surely, if this God was as incredible and merciful as his followers made him out to be, wouldn't he have sparred Rin's life and taken Len's instead? That was all he wanted; for his sister, who appreciated life and all its blessings and curses, to be here basking in it, even if he were unable to be at her side.
How desperate he was to have her here in his place.
So for now, he would paint her as best he could. This was all he could stand to do; create hues, different shades of his emotions until he made her perfect.
That's what his love was, after all – a never-ending palette of colors.
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