In the Chromatic Rainforest, the air is so thick and sweet that colors do not fly away; they sit heavy and rich upon the leaves like coats of wet paint.

Here, a young painter named Yara lived among the neon-green canopy with her older sister, Muna, a Nectar-Gatherer who wore an apron the color of buttercups.

While Muna spent her days harvesting liquid light from the deepest flowers, Yara used her brushes to mimic the ruby-red sap and turquoise mist of their home.

But one afternoon, a shadow fell over Yara’s palette. A butterfly made of shivering, wet night-ink fluttered past, and everywhere its wings brushed a leaf, the color vanished instantly—leaving behind a cold, star-shaped hole of pure white silence.