She shakes her head as he goes on, shakes it harder when he says the paint keeps it safe. Keeps what safe? She doesn't understand. But she understands not knowing what the spectrum was, not knowing colors stop in clear lines like that or that there was a finite end to the possibilities. It doesn't stop, not in clear lines, if she melds hte edges together, mixes and she does, blending the edges together until the space between teal and cerulean is just a gradient, until rust and royal melt into each other and look beautiful in their heretical melding.

"No one knows it from the beginning. Someone teaches us and we learn and we have to unlearn it again. Or realize that not everything we learn is true." She lifts her head, watching for the Peacekeepers or someone to notice their conversation, but they're lucky and the Capitol has better things to worry about than three trolls painting.

"I don't make anything safe, I just...try to pull a picture from it. It's not magical or anything, it's not even right I guess. You paint for the sake of it but I have to go in and make it into something." Shoulders shrugging, she hesitates at the last figure he is paused above. Her name is sacred, something special and she doesn't want to speak it. She's so afraid of calling her down onto them, of bringing her back to watch the death over and over.

"His lusus. That's her. What--what are you painting around us?"