Welcome to Find Your Colors!

This is the publication and podcast where we are discussing the Shards of Color Trilogy and more specifically the first book in that trilogy titled BLUSH BORN.

I am Jeff B. White and I am the writer and creator of this story. Find Your Colors allows me to share these stories with the world while also discussing the psychological concepts that are present within the narrative and breaking down exactly how I translated my own life experience into this dark fairy tale.

While I normally make two posts a week where I share chapters, and often include random bonus content whenever it becomes available, I have been on a brief time out from writing, from Substack, and everything in general. Currently, my father is on hospice and I have been in North Carolina to be with my family and help during this time. However, I have since come back home to New York because I am awaiting a pending approval to be able to move to a new apartment and I have to be home to facilitate all of that nonsense.

So for now, I'm back on my full-time schedule and able to provide the right amount of attention to my Substack and my writing.

Hospice care is a monster of a life event to live through. If you’re interested in following along on my hospice journey with dad, please allow me to invite you to check me out on tiktok at @UncleJeffIsHere where I am documenting my experience from my perspective. It’s something that’s not often talked about and it should be because it’s a major part of life that we all end up having to face.

Recap

Previously on Find Your Colors we read through “Chapter 16 Seeing Colors” where we followed Jethran and Fable as they traveled to a sanctuary seeking the truth of Jethran's lineage. That chapter ended with the two travelers reaching the borders of the sanctuary.

And this is what happened next...

Chapter 17 Whispering Color

It was a distortion in the air, a shimmering veil that rippled almost imperceptibly amidst a stand of lilac trees. Fable paused, his wings trembling slightly.

"This is it," he whispered, his voice hushed with reverence. "The Whispering Grove. It's said to be protected by illusions that turn away any who seek to harm it."

Pushing aside a curtain of blue-flowered vines, he passed through the shimmering veil. As he followed behind, Jethran felt a gentle pressure, like walking through cool water. It dissolved instantly, leaving a profound sense of peace and a sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine. The air grew warm, scented with unfamiliar spices and the smell of thriving life.

They emerged into a breathtaking valley. The sky was not the oppressive gray of the outer world, but a celestial canvas imbued with an otherworldly hue. It was a limitless expanse that revealed itself only within this hidden sanctuary.

Jethran couldn't find the words to explain why it felt different, only that it was. The valley itself was cradled by moss-covered trees whose leaves pulsed with every color imaginable. Small dwellings, carved seamlessly into the massive trunks, glowed with multi-hued light.

Figures moved among them, their skin holding subtle hues of scarlett, laguna, azure, violet, green, and orange. Their hair shimmered with every color, from deep crimson to electric sapphire, from corncob green to the bright yellow of a frog. They each had thick lush locks of different styles. Some wore theirs in spiraled ropes, while others showed off wavy plaits. Others wore theirs with tight braids or in patterned rows on their heads. Each of them had woven into their hair crystals that looked like sparkled shards of color.

Jethran and Fable were met with caution, a ripple of stillness passing through the community as they appeared. It was not the fearful silence of the Here. It was an appraising calm, a collective pause as they assessed the newcomers.

A serene-faced eldress, with purple eyes, emerged from the community. She was slender, her movements fluid, like a willow in a gentle breeze. Her skin was a luminous green, almost imperceptible until the light caught it just so. Her hair, at that moment, was a cascade of orange locks.

Her gaze rested on Jethran, sweeping over his Blush, tracing the vibrant rings of mallow, indigo, cobalt, crimson, and aureolin. There was no fear, no disgust, only a solemn recognition that seemed to pierce him to his very core.

"A rare light you carry, little spark," she said, her voice like a gentle breeze.

As she spoke, her braids shifted to a glowing blue. Upon noticing this rapid change of hair color, Fable’s eyes nearly came out of his head from the surprise.

“A spectrum that whispers of ancient truths,” she continued. “Who are you, who walks with such a vibrant song on his skin?”

"This is Jethran,” the Silvarii said. “We seek refuge. I am Fable, a wanderer from the Western Wilds. I'd heard tales of this place, though I never truly believed them."

Her hair, which had been blue, now cascaded down her back in a shimmering silver. Just as Fable opened his mouth to ask how and why, she offered something that was all too familiar for Jethran.

"The reality of our existence, little Silvarii,” she smiled. “Does not depend on the belief of others. We exist all the same."

"Then we are definitely in the right place,” Jethran responded with a sigh, as a profound relief washed over him.

The Eldress's gaze acknowledged Fable, a knowing smile touching her lips at the notion of a Silvarii finding his way to this place.

“It has been decades since a Silvarii has entered Whispering Grove,” she announced. “I am Eldress Winley Knowles. On behalf of the ristas and the cols, allow me to welcome you to the Whispering Grove. The sanctuary of the Coloristas.”

Fable’s face paled, and he took a half-step back. His hand instinctively went to the dagger on his belt.

Colorlings, their eyes curious, peeked from behind tree trunks, their faces marked with colors.

"Coloristas!?" He hissed, "The stories told that this was a sanctuary of safety. But it said nothing of Coloristas. Silvarii history... history of truth has taught us that the Coloristas are evil."

"Fable, we're guests here!" Jethran spat, mortified.

Winley’s expression remained serene, her gaze resting on Fable with a knowing patience.

"Give things a bit more time," she said, her voice gentle. "Start at the root and weave things section by section. Work it all the way through to the end and see how you feel about the results after. History is often woven by those who benefited from the stories that are told."

As if to punctuate her point, Winley Knowles’s hair shifted a third time, now a burgundy. Fable couldn't contain himself, his wings giving an irritated twitch.

"Does your hair... always do that?" he blurted out, his voice louder than he intended. "It's kind of a lot."

"The world is a lot," Winley's smile was faint. "The hair of our people tells the story of our strength and our survival. It says where we were then in the past, where we are now in the present, and where we will be in the future. Learning to adjust to the change of it all makes us better people, little Silvarii."

"True..." Fable replied.

"My ability to adjust with the changes doesn't make me better than anyone else," she said with a small laugh, as her head tilted.

"No one said that it did," Fable countered.

"Who's to say who is better than another," Winley shrugged.

Fable raised a finger and his mouth opened, as he was fully prepared to answer that question for her. But Jethran immediately placed his hand upon Fable’s chest, hoping to stop him from engaging further. Winley then gestured for Jethran to follow her.

"Come," Winley said to Jethran. "Let Fable explore. You and I should speak."

Winley gestured toward a secluded bench carved from a living root. Fable, relieved to be away from the rista's shifting hair and circular logic, gave a grateful nod and wandered off to observe the beautiful community, as Jethran followed Winley. She produced a wooden bowl filled with slices of a vibrant fruit that tasted of sunshine and quiet joy. They ate in a comfortable silence for a few moments.

"I can tell by the weight of your colors that you have faced many trials on your way here," Winley said finally, as her gaze drifted to his left arm. "And I can see that you've lost a part of yourself."

He told her of the Uncrowned and his contract, of Regale's execution. He explained to her the things that happened in the villages, with both the Menders and the Yaga, of the deception and the mutilation. Jethran swallowed the sweet fruit, the taste a contrast to the bitterness of his memories.

“My heart breaks for you over your mother,” Winley said with grace. “The Uncrowned King is a tragedy of fear. A pain in the world has been felt for too long due to that col’s rise of power. I am so very sorry for what he has put you through.”

Jethran had taken a bite of fruit. He inhaled it, nearly choking on the words he had just heard.

“That col!?” He asked, “Are you saying… that the Uncrowned is a Colorista?”

Winley's eyes were filling with tears. She looked at the ground, then back a Jethran. It was clear she was overcome. Jethran placed his hand on Winley's knee to calm her.

“I don't understand the cruelty,” he said, his voice low. “Why would they want to dismantle my memories, to make me doubt myself? Why did he have to kill my mother? Why does he hate the colors if he was born of them?”

Winley looked at him, her expression one of profound empathy. She could only share her own truths. Her locks shifted to an accepting vermillion.

Jethran couldn't help but wonder why she was apologizing. The expression upon her face wasn't empathy or sadness, it seemed like guilt. As if she was somehow blaming herself for what the Uncrowned had done.

She paused, taking another slice of the blue fruit and examining it as if it held a secret.

"Nimrah Yaga,” her voice tightened, as her hair softly deepened to crimson. “A bored and damaged wem. A dangerous combination. She's bored with her life, so she weaves into the lives of others, finding what threads she can fray in their pattern. It's her entertainment."

"Of course, this excuses nothing,” Winley sighed. “But the fact remains that we have all fallen victim to the Gray, in our own way. Some of us have found our way to surviving it, while others have stayed trapped in its discolor."

"Trying to determine why another person does what they do is often a waste of our precious time," she said, her voice a knowing grace.

"The 'why' of their actions is a tangled thread in their own weave, a thing for them to know,” she continued. “It is irrelevant to your journey. What truly matters is what they did, and who they did it to. It is where we find our own threads to reweave it, and when we finally decide that their actions are no longer enough to hold power over us."

Jethran wondered what sort of history there was between Nimrah and Winley.

“But we must remember, the world is a river, little spark, full of violent currents. Some are pulled by the tide, helplessly so,” she said.

She looked out across the Whispering Grove, almost as if looking behind its walls, as if looking into her own past.

“But others do not get pulled,” she added. “Others choose which currents they swim in. When we find ourselves dashed against the rocks, it is sometimes wise to look back. To ask ourselves, 'How did my chosen path lead me into this part of the river? What part of myself did I make available for the rapids to catch?' It is only by understanding how we participate in the journey that we can learn to navigate it with more grace. We teach the world how to treat us. What we allow is our responsibility to accept or not."

Jethran flinched, a sharp jerk of his shoulders. The words were a cold shock, a winding path that had led him right back to the terrible destination of self-blame. It was the logic of a victim, not a healer.

He looked at her, at this wise rista, and he suddenly saw something else beneath the surface. He could sense with a deep certainty, that she wasn't speaking about him. She was speaking about herself. Her philosophy was born from some past horror that she blamed herself for.

An unsettling feeling began to stir in his gut, a feeling he couldn't name or verbalize. It was a faint pulse, a sense of an impossible connection. He felt, in a way that made no logical sense, that this rista, this stranger, was somehow intrinsically linked to the very people and events that had shattered his own life.

He knew she was somehow related to everything. If not directly, her blaming of herself meant there was something more to know. The feeling was as undeniable as it was inexplicable, a thread of destiny he could feel but could not yet see.

They finished their fruit. Winley guided him back to the Grand Knoll. She then called out to the others.

“Coloristas, please. Meet Jethran, who has traveled far to find us,” Winley chimed outwardly.

Jethran noticed the entire community had a tangible reaction to his presence. The community members gathered, their appraising gazes falling upon him with expressions of reverence. He stepped up onto the highest point on the Grand Knoll so that he could be seen by the crowd.

He closed his eyes, focusing inward. He first drew on the wellspring of his self-love, the lesson of Crezwil. An indigo light emanated from his skin, not a blast, but a pervasive haze that drifted through the clearing.

As it touched the community members, their shoulders visibly relaxed. Faces, etched with subtle lines of worry, softened. A rista, who had been clenching her fists, slowly unfurled her fingers. A sigh, like a collective exhalation, swept through the crowd. Jethran heard whispers.

"My burden. It feels lighter."

"The shame. It's not so heavy."

He saw old wounds, deep-set sorrow in some eyes, momentarily at ease. The weight of judgment lifted.

He watched a young rista around his age, standing next to Winley. She had teal skin and short braids of citrine-hued hair, her sadness seemed to melt away. A smile grew on her face, as she wrote something in her leather journal.

Then he shifted. He thought of Muralis, of the calm in the mist. A cobalt haze flowed from him, mingling with the existing color. It spread, touching each person, and a profound serenity settled over the community. Faces became placid, eyes peaceful. Fable watched with mesmerized eyes, inhaling deeply.

"Oh, sugar," he exhaled, a sound of pure contentment, then inhaled again, a deeper breath. Then a third.

"Can I... can I have some more of that blue mist, Jethran?" he murmured, almost begging. "It's... it's so peaceful."

Jethran gave a knowing shake of his head, maintaining the gentle flow, allowing them all just enough to find a measure of calm, but not enough to lose themselves.

Next, he tapped into the vital crimson of Elba, the power of memory and self-mastery. This time, the color pulsed outward with an inner strength. It ignited a deep hum vibrating within their bones. He watched as shoulders straightened and chins lifted. A sudden light flickered in their eyes. A weaver stepping from the back squared his shoulders as a heavy truth settled over his features.

"I remember," the weaver whispered.

Another rista stood taller. A quiet awe filled her spirit. "I remember."

The realization spread through the community as a wave of individual awakenings. Each person touched by the crimson light felt the weight of their personal journeys.

Fable, caught in the spreading warmth, threw his arms around his own body, embracing his historical path. He looked at Jethran as the colors swirled on his cheeks and pulsed in his eyes.

"He really is beautiful," Fable whispered.

Jethran smiled a small smile at his Silvarii friend. He felt the urge to unleash yellow, the anger that had destroyed the Uncrowned’s wall. He had released this color into the world, seen it bloom in the grass, but he understood the raw power of that color, its potential to consume.

While the people had a right to righteous anger, he knew that an uncontrolled spread of fury, however justified, could be toxic. It would lead to chaos, not liberation. He held the yellow in careful balance, knowing when not to release it.

Winley watched Jethran's display, her purple eyes fixed on him with an intensity that seemed to see into his very spirit. She saw the controlled release of his indigocity, the measured dispersal of cobaltessence, the empowering thrum of crimsonacity. But most importantly, she saw his discernment with his aureolinesque power. She saw his wisdom. A profound smile spread across her face, her hair turning a brilliant shade of pink.

"Indeed," she murmured, a single word that encompassed all the trust she now placed in the boy.

The harmonious life of the Coloristas was a stark contrast to the Gray he had known. In this place, color was not a flaw to be hidden but a language, communion, a celebration of existence. Their homes were carved into the trunks of large trees. They were lit by glowing crystals that shifted in hue with the emotions of the inhabitants. It created living tapestries of light.

Meals were shared in communal clearings where fruits of vivid purple, sharp yellow, and deep red grew on branches. The laughter that echoed through the groves seemed to shimmer with spontaneous bursts of green and orange light.

Fable strolled down to join a few of the community members for a meal. While Jethran took in the sight of an entire world with color.

Colorlings, unburdened by the Uncrowned’s propaganda, played games where they chased after the fleeting colors that danced in the air. A young colorling, concentrating fiercely, made a small flower bloom with a vibrant azure, her joy radiating in shimmering waves. An argument between two friends was marked by flashes of dull smoke and agitated citrine, until a shared understanding brought forth a calm cerulean. Eventually, a reconciliation marked by a harmonious blend of colors.

The community lived not despite their emotions, but through them, understanding that true peace came from integration, not suppression. It was a world of fluid boundaries, where the lines between self and other, emotion and manifestation, were delightfully blurred.

This was freedom, Jethran realized, not just a concept, but a lived reality, a constant dance of being and feeling. He wanted this for those Here in the city who never knew such freedom.

Now Some News

I am extremely proud to announce my new author website that can be found at jeffbwhite.com where you can get all the information on my books and updates on publishing and more as I prepare to introduce these books fully to the world.

This site was paid for by my subscribers on Substack. I cannot express how grateful I am to all of you for your support as you are helping me to not only achieve my dream of being paid for my work and paid to write, but each day you get me closer to becoming a published author sharing stories that I have put everything that I am into creating.

I truly thank you all for your support.

Subscribe Today

Find Your Colors is a reader supported publication and listener supported podcast. If you've enjoyed this reading then you can find more at findyourcolors.substack.com or search for the Find Your Colors Podcast on Spotify. Or go to jeffbwhite.com

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The Breakdown

Finally we get to meet the Coloristas. This is a race of people who were mentioned on the very first page of the book and were brought up again on the day that Jethran met Fable. And yes, I did recently change the name of this race as I finally found a proper term for their genders and children.

The Whispering Grove provides a necessary and beautiful contrast to the Gray. The visual shift from the muted tones of the outside world to a vibrant sanctuary where color and emotion both flow without fear. For Jethran, having lived in the Gray his entire life, he's never seen people with color until he encountered the Yaga. This group of peaceful harmonious individuals living with color provide him with a sense of hope for the first time in his life.

It was necessary after so much darkness and so much pain and trauma that he finally encountered people who accept him and welcomed him. Somewhere that he can express his powers and be celebrated.

Winley Knowles

Winley was one of the first characters I created for this story. She is based on my friend Will who I mentioned in my memoir. Like most of the other characters, her name was created as an anagram using the letters of his full name.

The moment when she and Jethran sit down on the bench and are eating the bowls of fruit echoes the day that I met Will. We encountered each other in a person’s home where I reasonably should not have been. I made him laugh and he made me laugh. And then when he left I took that as my out to get away from this individual who I had been spending time with and I ran out the door behind him. As we walked down the sidewalk together, he took pity on me being completely high out of my gourd and bought me a bowl of fruit from a sidewalk vendor. I then looked at him with an innocent sincerity and asked him if it was possible for him and I to go sit down somewhere, like a park, and eat this fruit together.

He was an extremely busy person and still is and the fact that I was able to get him to go sit down and eat fruit in a park with some random person he didn’t know without just walking off without saying anything was absolutely a miracle. I found myself to click with him in a way I hadn't before with anyone else. Not romantically, but deeply and in a familiar way.

We had a conversation in which I told him about some of the horrific things that I had been through recently. His response was nearly verbatim everything that Winley said to Jethran. And my reaction was equal to the one Jethran had.

He was correct, in a sense. I did have some responsibility in the things I had been through, in that I chose to go to places and meet people. I also recognize something in his tone that told me that he had also survived something horrific. Whatever it was he had survived, he had been made to believe that it was his fault. I didn't know him and I didn't know what he had been through, but I did know whatever it was someone else was to blame for it.

That day began a friendship that has lasted for over five years. He is the first friend that I made in New York and the two of us have grown immensely close.

We have completely different histories and have lived fully unique lives from each other yet we still share some of the same hopes and dreams and some of the same fears and pains. We both are two men of the same age navigating life as single men in New York.

We have shared pain and heartache. We’ve shared traumas with each other. We’ve shared clothes and we’ve shared men. He took me to the hospital when I started having symptoms that led to me discovering I had cancer and he was there for me when someone had to go with me as I had my biopsy to find out what type of cancer I have. He’s met my mother which is something that most people can’t say.

Despite all of the ups and downs that we have been through, he is like a sister to me. He’s one of the closest friends I’ve ever had as an adult and I honestly can’t imagine my life without his friendship. There are very few people in this world who I would describe as kindred, mainly because it’s just corny, but if I were to use that term it would be for this individual.

It was only natural that in discussing my memoir and planning who would be in it and who wouldn’t that this person would be a part of it. In doing so, when it became time to translate the story into this fantasy story it was required that I make a character based on him.

Because he’s the type of person who almost every time you see him he may have a completely different hair color, I gave Winley Knowles the trait of her hair’s shifting color. And because in real life he is a colorist I chose to name their entire race of people after that aspect of his character.

He has given me some of the most valuable and important wisdom and knowledge that I’ve ever received. He has helped me to see myself in a way that I never did before and to understand who I truly am. Winley Knowles serves as an excellent guiding force. Winley is in the role of providing Jethran with the truth and reality of who he is as we will see in the coming chapters.

The Truth of Rumors

Fable’s reaction to realizing that he has just brought Jethran to a Colorista sanctuary is both rude and expected. As he expressed on the day when he first met Jethran, he has been taught since his childhood that Coloristas are evil. Even going as far as to state that they at one point were purged with fire.

The exchange between Fable and Winley is a perfect expression of Will’s condescending wisdom. It doesn’t sound like she is insulting him or anyone, and she may not be. But it’s difficult to tell and that is a perfect representation of what conversations with Will can be like.

Fable’s discomfort over her shifting hair color becomes a continuous part of the story that provides moments of levity while showing that no matter how much he may try these two are going to clash because they have completely different ideologies.

Fable believes in the Hum of the Pure Melody and Winley believes in the Pattern of the Grand Weave. Both represent a powerful magical system to each respective culture as well as comprising the world’s cosmology. While Jethran is discovering the truth of the Living Pulse, he soon discovers that he is meant to be a bridge between these different schools of thought.

In the next chapter, we will see exactly why.

Let’s Discuss

Jethran and Winley form an immediate bond that mirrors a real life friendship born from a strange encounter.

* Have you ever formed a vital connection with someone under unexpected circumstances?

Fable struggles to accept the Coloristas because of the history he was taught.

* When have you had to dismantle a specific belief after experiencing the truth firsthand?

Winley suggests that while people cannot always control the river of life, they choose which currents to swim in.

* How do you navigate the balance between self-blame and holding others accountable?

Fable and Winley represent clashing ideologies attempting to exist in the same space.

* How do you handle conversations with people who view the universe through an entirely different lens?

Feel free to answer the questions in the comment section below or take them with you as you go.

What’s Next?

On the next episode we will read chapter 18 Colorful Revelations in which Fable and Jethran learn the history of who exactly Jethran is believed to be. As well, a new color is introduced to the world that changes everything.

Thanks

As always, if you read this all the way to the end or if you listened to it all the way through, then you are absolutely my hero. I want to thank you for giving me the time out of your day and the space in your brain to share my story and to introduce Jethran to the world.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit findyourcolors.substack.com/subscribe