Pastel

The fine arts are my muse!
To color and dance and weave my paints. . .
Ah, what a delight!

I see the colors in your soul. . .
They glimmer in radiance. . .
This emotion forsooths your personality. . .
It shows both your sides. . .

One is not always bright, however. . .
those can relish in darkness. . .
I see their souls as dark as the night. . .
they need no words to tell me their story. . .

As light as white, as deep as black. . .
this fine distinction is essential. . .
to break its barrier. . . . .

one only asks for pure chaos.

---

She is a master in any art you give her. Hand her an instrument, and she'll become the most beautiful bard you've ever heard play; give her some paints and watch her flourish on a canvas, empty or not; leave a skien of yarn to her side and you'd find the warmest garments the next morn just for you, left with a note and a parcel filled with snacks.
It's impossible to beat her in these skills. She was practically born with the dapple claw, given abilities to weave and write like no other. There's elegance in her ways, hidden from the common folk who are unable to tell.