Prismatic

~~~
He came from a color-drenched nest in the Starfall Isles where celestial light and magic created new hues visible only in that part of the world.
In Shadow, Prismatic found the absence of all he had known.
With little reflection or refraction, what few colors there were to see were muted, overwashed with grey, their very molecules burdened by Shadow. He remained, nonetheless, as a goodwill ambassador.
In his host lair, Prismatic struggled to discern whether all the dragons truly looked the same or whether he was becoming careless in his perception; too overwhelmed by the shades of monochrome to distinguish one from the other.
A few stood out: Asteric, Zera... but they, too, had not fit in, and had gone to serve a higher purpose. And then there had been Acerbic, who had made him feel like he was becoming accepted despite his differences, but she had found someone more status quo.
Oh, the dragons in Shadow were friendly, yes, but he just couldn't connect with them. There was something slightly off in the way that they interacted with him. He was content with his position there, thought it was rewarding and interesting, but yearned for a more meaningful relationship with someone, anyone.

~~~

And then there was the excursion to the Driftwood Drag. He didn't know what he expected to find, wandering so far from his host lair. Lately, Prismatic had scavenged some solace in soaring over the woods on the edge of the Forum. He didn't understand why, since the scraggly thin pines looked just as gloomy and eerily similar as his compatriots at the lair. At the edge of this however, he found a little chaos.
The driftwood drag was a jumble. Dragons camped everywhere, refuse was strewn about, rotten logs piled up like the Pearlcatcher homes of Prismatic's youth. He perched atop one such structure, trying to feel familiarity. As he watched, he felt disappointment. Still, though, all the dragons looked the same. They were muted in both color and personality.
The logs shifted beneath him, and Prismatic felt his wings snap out instinctively as he began to plunge towards the swirling slurry of sludge that flowed sluggishly beneath the tree trunks. He spluttered, hovering in midair, ready to toss a curse at whichever careless cretin had endangered him.
Prismatic thought himself a sensible dragon, and affirmed this as he choked back the words that would surely have provoked the wrath of a Bogsneak twice his size who was in the process of extracting a single driftwood log from the pile. At the sound of his flapping and sputtering, the Bogsneak focused two serene, heavily-lidded eyes on him.
She flicked her tongue. "You do not belong here," she purred as though she were able to taste his inability to fit in.
Prismatic took in her elaborate garb and deep, jeweled colors, thinking much the same of her.
She chuckled. It was deep and throaty. "I do not belong here," she admitted. "The filtration properties of these logs are superior to those in The Viridian Labyrinth. The quality of wood in my home is too high. The rot in these gnarled trunks provides a less dense membrane for water to pass through."
He looked at her, stunned to be spoken to, even more taken aback that someone would voluntarily travel to The Tangled Wood if they knew what it was like here, and further confused that a Bogsneak of all creations was being personable.
"My name is Cabernet," the dragon concluded.
She waited for him to respond, and when he didn't, turned back to her chosen log.
He fluttered to a different stack of dead wood and settled, watching her almost robotically pull the tree from the pile without upsetting it completely. She hefted it between her claws and turned towards the Northeast, tensing her great bulk for takeoff.
"I am Prismatic," he said.
Cabernet's mass of muscle did not relax. "You can come belong for a while, if you would like."
She offered this without turning, and launched herself into the air.
Prismatic hesitated, then sailed after her.

Thanks to the awesome catprose for this lore