The mark

She glanced down at the swathe along her hand, and what she saw disarmed her entirely- the mark she had always known to be of the brightest colours, reds and yellows and summer-sky blues, had changed like the stroke of a paintbrush, like a sun had set on her skin. For now, the streak of rainbow was the colour of ebony; a black deeper than she had ever known, a pool of uncertainty and hope and discovery. The colour of space, somehow not lacking in colour at all, but instead overfilled with it… like it had tried to split its seven ways but realised that the shades seen by the human eye weren’t anywhere near competent, and tried to fill itself with colours not yet existing. The slight sheen that glimmered over the darkness reminded her of oil spills and pearls, of still waters and pounding waves. It was all of these things and none of them- it was everything and nothing- but suddenly the weight of a hand on her shoulder sucked her back into reality, and she looked up.