Pink Haze was once as pale as milk, her scales so light she could almost disappear against the stonework of the church. Delicate even for her kind, she spent her days in sheltered places where sunlight fell only in slivers. Bright light pained her eyes and skin, so she favoured the churchyard stones, not for anything sorrowful, but because they offered the deepest shade long after the sun had risen.

The church bells marked the changing light. The evening bell called her forth to hunt moths and beetles and drink rain from leaves. To Pink Haze, each bell carried its promise: night was coming, and with it, safety. The morning bell sent her scurrying home before daylight returned.

But how did she turn pink?

Some say it was the sunsets over Norwich. Pink Haze would settle between the ancient stones at dusk, where the final glow could reach her without the day’s harshness. Night after night, that fading light was said to seep into her scales, leaving them the soft pink they bear today.

Others say her colour came from flowers brought to the churchyard over generations. Roses, campions, and many blooms left their colours in the earth around the old stones, slowly tinting the Snap who lived among them.

No one knows the truth. The oldest Lorewardens say some changes leave no trace of their beginning, only the mark they leave behind.

Deep within The Guild’s vaults, however, an old manuscript bears two curious lines:

“Sunset or flower, none can tell,
what ancient hue upon her fell.”

Whatever touched Pink Haze has faded into the same shadows where she once sheltered.