The City That Still Shines

Canvas Metropolis woke up the way it always did — loud, colorful, and absolutely full of itself.

From the rooftop of Solitude Art Gallery, Super Artist Woman stood with her red cape snapping in the breeze. Below her, the city hummed with life. A pride of humanoid lions in bright yellow coats argued over a food cart. Two goats in paint-splattered overalls argued louder about nothing at all. Humans, tigers, bears, deer, and sheep filled the sidewalks in every shade of coat, fur, and fashion imaginable.

She loved this city. Every messy, noisy, gorgeous inch of it.

"Still here," she said quietly to herself, scanning the skyline. The gallery's black walls gleamed behind her, its blue windows catching the morning light like sapphires.

Inside, a new exhibition had just opened — hundreds of paintings from artists all over the city.

She turned to head in and stopped.

One painting near the entrance had no color at all.

What the Parrot Heard

The painting was a portrait — a lion in a bright orange coat, laughing. Or it had been. Now it was just gray shapes on a white canvas. Every stroke still there, every detail perfect. Just… colorless.

Super Artist Woman crouched close and studied it. Not faded. Not old. Stripped.

"That one was mine."

She turned. An elderly humanoid parrot stood behind her — vivid green feathers, a crooked yellow beak, and a tiny purple hat tilted sideways. She wore a paint-stained apron and gripped a wooden cane.

"Madame Flint," read the small card clipped to the frame.

"I painted it yesterday," the old parrot said flatly. "Full color. I checked it this morning before the doors opened."

Super Artist Woman stood up. "And now—"

A crash from deeper in the gallery cut her off.

They both spun around.

Three paintings on the far wall had gone gray at once — not slowly, not painting by painting. All three, in the same second. A small drone zipped past the window and vanished into the city sky.