Gray Matter Guide

They called it the "Gray Matter." It wasn't a gas or a virus; it was an absence.

She ran outside, hands held high. Everywhere she touched—a mailbox, a tetherball pole, a neighbor’s shoulder—the gray peeled away like old wallpaper. It wasn't a permanent fix, but it was a start. Gray Matter

Elias, a retired restoration artist, sat in his studio clutching a tube of Cobalt Blue. It was the last bit of pigment in the district. Outside his window, the world looked like a charcoal sketch left out in the rain. People moved like shadows, their skin a uniform pebble-gray, their eyes dull as lead. They called it the "Gray Matter