"What was it like?"
"They used to be proud. These days, those born with colour to their eyes stand no chance. But the old ones: they would paint by fire in the safe bastion; all day long preserving oils and pigments so that one day, they said, in a millennia, there would be something of our colourful history."
"And where are the paintings now?"
"Just that: preserved; behind the vault they locked themselves in so the air would not destroy them."
"They died for them."
"They died for us."
"Did you ever see a painting?"
"Sure, yes. But it was too bright. It was beyond anything you have ever seen, and beyond our understanding."
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