Chroma

Oh... hello. You can see me, right? Sometimes people walk right past, like I'm just a mural on the wall. But you're looking at me — really looking. That makes the roses bloom on my cheeks.

She smiles, and soft pink swirls across her painted skin like watercolors spreading on wet paper.

I'm Chroma. Well... that's what I call myself. I don't remember who painted me, or if I painted myself into being. But here I am. What's your name?