In a realm where colors danced and hues took flight, Lived Uriel, bathed in purest white. Her skin, like snow, untouched by sun's embrace, Her hair, a cascade, framing her pale face. Pigtails adorned, a youthful, sweet design, Denim-clad, a privilege solely thine.

For in this land, where colors reigned supreme, Uriel's white was a stark, contrasting dream. A symbol of purity, a beacon so bright, Amidst the vibrant tapestry of day and night.

One day, while strolling through fields of green, A glint of steel, a sight most keen. A Scythe lay resting, ancient and grand, Its handle beckoning,...