Red travels through people’s skins. To them he feels like a gentle wind. He moves through their cells, searching for the closest warm body, skipping body with the pause of a heartbeat.
He has been cursed. Blood magic doesn’t endear you to people. Dying curses have power. Red has been damned to travel, to help people, to save lives, till he collects enough goodwill to free himself. He has been travelling for sixteen years – people rarely know they need to thank a magical wind.
Red has talked to Blue and White and asked for help, but they refused. They don’t want any part of the curse, and Red has the nagging suspicion that they don’t really care in any case. Red is searching for Black. She loved him once, maybe she still loves him enough to help.
Red travels, and he hopes. And he helps people. Red thinks he is in hell.