White was his favorite color to see her in. The beautiful, pale shade contrasting with her golden-brown skin, making her look at once impossibly pure and irresistibly tempting.
White was the first color he saw her in; contrasting with the deep crimson staining her. Her beautiful form sprawled against the black pavement; a magnificent and horrifying contrast between the red, white and black.
White was the color he missed, the color she never wore after that day. Oranges, purples, pinks and blues passed his eyes, a parade of color but missing the one he really wanted to see, the one that set her apart.
White was the color she finally wore, walking tentatively down the white rose-strewn aisle, looking like a goddess from a far off land, all white layers of silk and gold skin and ornaments and black waves of hair cascading down her back.
Whatever color she wore, whatever one was considered the best at the time, white was still his favorite. The simplicity of the color, if it could even be considered one, was all the rainbow and more in one in his eyes.
White was the color he said goodbye to her in, her loveliness not at all dimmed by the brown surrounding her, because her white dress served as a beacon, seeming to attract the light of the dawn as she was lowered into her final sleep.
And white was her marker, a plain slab of white marble with a single inscription:
For my angel in white