There are a lot of WIPs I'm working on, but here's a little 7-7-7 from 'On the Other Side of the Mask', which needed an extension.
All Byron and Shelley ever got to choose was their names. Picking what once belonged to poets from another world was as close to taking a stand against Paradise as they could ever dream of. Especially since those poets fought for freedom, a concept which all but a myth, under the eye of the pale lords in the city of Paradise. For Byron and Shelley catch that eye, when they try to sing a different hymn that what the faithful flock dutifully chant. And the owner of that eye is hungry...
Purple was a color of distinction within the grey city of Paradise. Not to mention the beaded masks, which concealed the upper halves of their faces.
“Byron and Shelley,” the lady murmured, letting out a titter. It was soft, hushed, a cautious squeak of cruelty. “Fancy themselves poets, do they? Or revolutionaries?”
“In the end, it doesn’t matter what they fancy themselves to be,” the man said, with an airy wave of his gloved hand.