Observation
Where did all the colors go?
Alfred groaned, inspecting his body—gold smudges on his chest, red streaks on his thighs… was that a purple bite mark?
Another voice muttered, “Why does my thigh have six-colored fingerprints?” sighed Maude.
Reginald stretched, grinning. “The paint’s gone, but I think I’ve been permanently redesigned.”
Across the clearing, Clarence flopped onto his back...
“We were promised brighter things.”
Masquerade Rule #2: If it wasn’t yours before, it is now.