Cyan. An artificial lake's color. I don't like aquatic play, but I will lay out a recliner, sit by the lakeside, and let my mind wander as I read, keeping an eye on the water's merriment. The Durin frolic so peacefully, and their most bitter wars are little but splashing water on each other. When mankind needs not spill blood for a loaf of brown bread, their communication will be clear and beautiful as lakewater. Yellow. Artificial sunlight's color. I'd often raise a glass of mead the color of sunlight, stood in the midst of the City Forum's hubbub, soaking in the sun and its half-intense degree. Even artificial, my mood would sing high before I knew it as it spilled over me. Even if I'd never see the twin moons again, I'd rather this synthetic warmth spills over the frigid tundras. Magenta. Greenhouse flowers' color. My most frequent writings in Zeruertza were advertisement copy, and the flowers' competitive vibrancy always gave me inspiration. Expression isn't a necessary part of copywriting, but each time I saw those flowers, my heart would leap with pure beauty's admiration. If everyone could find the time to grow fresh flowers of their own, would they be able to tear their eyes for a moment from money and power? Black. ...Dirt's color. The earth's color. The color furthest from print, and closest to truth. The color I once fled, and was forced to face again. But ink's color, too. To this day, I only hope that black ink may let me portray some few of this land's darknesses.