tawny; dull yellowish-gray or yellowish-brown
The sun rose.
Jolie took a moment to take in that simple fact. Even if this sun was the cold, murky colour of an overused paint palet, or a faded reflective jacket, it still shone with whatever light it had left. That felt like a wonder some days.
Her legs hung loose over the side of the building, and she stretched, her arms rising high over her head. There was no warmth to be had, but she turned her palms to the horizon regardless, making the most of the break in the clouds before the grey of it all overtook the sunrise until the last glimse she might get at the end of the day.
She fingered in her bag, wondering for some paper, but she had nothing that could capture the sight. Barely anyone would want to; there were still sunrises to be found, in well-preserved paintings and tapestries and redbubble warehouses, most far more brilliant than the sapid sight gently casting on Jolie. But none of them watched it move, and the fact she could still witness that meant it was one more day still alive.
Within minutes, almost as she blinked, the fierce cloud cover swallowed her sickly ball of light, and the colour diffused into a wonderful grey sky that illuminated everything only in it’s worst form.
And it was gone.