"Pure was I created, and pure will I remain for ever.
I would rather be burnt and turn to white ashes than suffer darkness
to touch me or the unclean to come near me."
The ink-bottle heard what the paper was saying,
and it laughed in its dark heart; but it never dared to approach her.
And the multicoloured pencils heard her also,
and they too never came near her.
And the snow-white sheet of paper did remain pure and chaste for ever,
pure and chaste -- and empty.
