These are the songs that never found their place.
Too hesitant for "Shades And Colours", too dimmed for "Colours And Shades". Yet they lingered.
"Remains: Colours And Shades" gathers what was left behind. Each track is named after a hue, a pigment not to define a feeling, but to paint one. These are not direct expressions, but emotional reflections: fragments of love, doubt, nostalgia, and stillness, each refracted through colour.
Together, they form a palette of what almost was, of moments too delicate or dissonant to belong elsewhere, now given space to breathe.
They don’t resolve, and they don’t proclaim. They simply exist, quiet, unfinished, and honest.

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Remains: Colours And Shades

Shades And Colours is the debut album by Claire’s Prelude, a concept album tracing one year of emotion through evolving sound. Each track captures a moment, a memory, or a feeling tied to a single person whose presence shaped the course of everything.

What begins in simplicity and introspection unfolds into a complex blend of electronic textures, progressive rock structures, and ambient depth. Joy, longing, detachment, depression, hope, they’re all here, in songs that grow, loop, fracture, and return.

Some colours glow. Some shades fall. And through them, Shades And Colours offers an intimate portrait of what it means to feel deeply, even when no one else is listening.

Shades And Colours

The aftermath of feeling.
"Colours And Shades" is both a continuation and a culmination, the final descent into the emotional architecture first sketched in "Shades And Colours", and quietly sustained in "Remains: Colours And Shades". Across twenty-seven tracks, shades and colours mirroring each other once more, this album traces not opposites, but possibilities: how emotion can splinter, soften, evolve.

Each song is a transformation of something familiar. The joy, sorrow, longing, and silence of the past aren’t gone; they’ve simply changed hues. This is the sound of aftermath, not as collapse, but as reflection: the inward pull that comes when the storm passes, when love remains, but differently.

This is not a resolution. This is what survives it.

Colours And Shades

Restlessness beneath still skies.
"Terre de sienne brûlée" simmers with quiet frustrationnot loud, not chaotic, but insistent. A pulse that won’t settle. Its foundation lies in dual bass lines and erratic shifts in rhythm, mimicking the feeling of needing to move forward while trapped in place.
The melody never resolves, it wanders, stumbles, pushes ahead. Somewhere within, a synth whispers in code, spelling a name that refuses to fade.
Like watching the same stretch of desert blur past for miles, knowing something waits beyond, if only the world would change.

Terre de sienne brûlée

The sound of wanting to become.
"Vert de vessie" drifts between dreams, of love, of identity, of a future just out of reach. It opens with a gentle nod to jazz, but holds back, uncertain of its voice: a quiet guitar, hesitant chords, a rhythm section too modest to claim attention. Then something shifts. A new shape emerges.
The piano begins to believe in itself, melodies forming, harmonies blooming. Still, nothing quite settles. It reaches, then fades.
Like letters written but never sent, it’s a song filled with hopes that may never arrive, but written all the same.

Vert de vessie

Everything begins in silence.
"Blanc titane" is the page before the story, the first breath before sound. It holds the quiet tension of potential, the weight of all the things that could be said, felt, written.
Built on a single, looping motif, the piece moves without motion, slowly growing not in shape, but in presence. A blank slate doesn’t ask what’s next, it simply waits, wide and bright, for something to begin.

Blanc titane

A single night, vivid as a lifetime.
"Orange" is a pulse of fleeting romance, born from one brief encounter and everything it left behind: the shimmer of a smile, the mystery in a glance, the perfect stranger written into memory like a myth.
Its electronic textures build slowly, evolving like the moment itself, familiar at first, then suddenly luminous, almost surreal. A park at night becomes a dream in motion, coloured in synth and light. Some loves are too quick to catch. This one lingers, dancing just out of reach.

Orange

A sky full of feelings you no longer name.
"Bleu céruléen" moves without clear direction, built in parts that repeat, shift, return. It’s structured, but not confined. The pulse is steady, the sound layered in soft tension: electronic textures drifting somewhere between clarity and abstraction.
There’s love here, still, but diluted, like colour in water. A quiet pride lingers too, not for what became of it, but for having felt it so deeply.
It feels like watching clouds from below: shapes come and go, familiar for a moment, then gone, yet somehow beautiful all the same.

Bleu céruléen

Melancholy in its softest shade.
"Noir" opens the album not with weight, but with shadows, those that settle over the memories never made, the moments imagined but never lived. Each note is sparse, plucked gently, like reaching for something that isn’t there.
Its rhythm drifts between shapes, long tones, syncopations, and uneven pulses, layering into an ambient drift that never bursts, only breathes. A beginning painted in absence, dim and delicate.

Noir

Joy without reason, movement without direction.
Caught between tension and release, "Jaune citron" doesn’t search for clarity, it dances in the unknown. A looping motif anchors the song like a thought that won’t leave, while each section spins off unpredictably: shifting shapes, an improvised burst, then back again.
There’s something almost lighthearted in its indifference, like standing in a crowded room, half-listening, half-lost in your own rhythm. Not certain where to go next, and, for a moment, not needing to know.

Jaune citron

A breath between memory and becoming.
"Vert guignet" is quiet introspection, an unfolding reflection on everything that came before, and a soft curiosity for whatever lies ahead. From one musical idea, the song splits and blossoms: melodies diverge, reunite, echo, and evolve.
It doesn’t rush, there’s patience here, and expectation.
Like writing in a journal beside a slow river, hidden deep in a forest, the page filling with thoughts shaped by what’s been lived, what’s been lost, and what might still arrive.

Vert guignet

Love that lingers where no light should reach.
"Outremer" stays beneath the surface, deep, quiet, and unwavering. It reflects inward like the song before it, but now everything narrows to one truth: the memory of someone still loved. The music doesn’t shift much, but it grows, one motif, slowly gaining strength, swelling until it breaks gently into light.
It feels like drifting through a submerged world, wrapped in a silence that isn’t still but gathering, glowing with distant neon, waiting to rise, waiting to speak.

Outremer

When hope fractures, silence turns to noise.
"Distress" dives into the collapse, an emotional unraveling where sound begins to break apart. The melodies are sharper here, more jagged, more distant. Rhythms distort, textures tighten.
This is not about heartbreak. It’s about the heaviness before it. The kind of sadness that doesn’t cry out, but sinks, quietly, completely.

Fourth Shade (Distress)

The slow fading of what could have been.
"Ennui" lingers in emotional stillness, the moment when longing gives way to quiet detachment. It doesn’t mourn, it drifts. Melodies feel distant, rhythms hesitant, as if unsure whether to move forward or remain behind.
This is the sound of separation before goodbye. Not dramatic, just inevitable.

Fifth Shade (Ennui)

Joy, stripped of hope, only feeling remains.
"Extase" is played by two classical guitars: one grounding the harmony, the other improvising freely above it. No loops, no electronic haze, just hands, strings, and the sound of a heart racing toward something beautiful.
This isn’t imagined happiness. It’s the pure joy of presence, of thinking, just for a moment, that everything might be okay. A quiet ecstasy, glowing and real.

Sixth Colour (Extase)

A promise whispered into the future.
"Forever" is a vow, quiet, steady, and unconditional. Built on gentle repetition and warm harmonic layers, it moves with sincerity, not spectacle. There’s no need to be loud when the feeling is this certain.
This track doesn’t chase a moment. It stays. It waits. It loves, no matter what.

Fifth Colour (Forever)

The world shifted the day she appeared.
"Elation" captures the moment everything changed, the light after long grey. Built with open, rising structures and warm textures, this track reflects the feeling of being seen for the first time, of waking up into something new.
It doesn’t reach for happiness, it is happiness, brief and overwhelming. The first real colour in a long time, turned into shade.

Second Shade (Elation)

A song made to please, but not to feel.
Written with the hope of reaching further, "Insipid" was born from the desire to be heard, to be successful, to be enough, for her. Built with a classic house structure and a single repeating motif, it grows louder, more textured, more polished… but something’s missing.
It sounds like ambition. It moves like a promise. But beneath the brightness, there’s an emptiness. A song that doesn’t sound like its writer.

Third Colour (Insipid)

The spark you can't explain, only feel.
"Passion" pulses with the energy of a memory that lingers without reason. Built around a house-inspired structure, it carries a coded melody hidden in the notes, passed between layers of sound like a secret.
There’s desire here, and nostalgia, and something stranger: a rush that feels urgent but undefined. The beat builds, modulates, returns. A feeling that burns bright, even in confusion.

Second Colour (Passion)

The beginning, though it never meant to be.
"Whispers" opens the album with quiet repetition and unresolved emotion, a minimalist conversation between two melodies that circle, mirror, and drift. Built in the stillness left behind by someone’s sudden absence, the track captures the quiet ache of something that didn’t happen.
Electronic textures imitate guitar tones, creating an atmosphere of reflection and restraint. A first step taken without knowing it was one.

First Shade (Whispers)

Time slows, and waiting turns to weight.
"Languor" drifts in circles of growing impatience, the warmth of hope beginning to fade into frustration. Its pacing is slow, deliberate, almost heavy, like thoughts caught in a loop with no resolution.
The sound pulls inward, blurring motion with stillness. This is where dreams begin to ache, and still nothing moves.

Third Shade (Languor)

A gift made of hope and imagination.
Built on a looping bass motif, "Bouquet" gathers fragments of love not yet real, memories that never happened, feelings shaped by waiting. Two melodies intertwine in counterpoint, separate but harmonizing, drifting apart only to find each other again.
Electronic and echoing with rock textures, this track is a symbol of what could be: a bouquet not of flowers, but of moments dreamed into being.

First Colour (Bouquet)

A dream you can't wake from, and a fear you can't name.
"Reverie" drifts deeper into the subconscious, where images lose shape and death becomes a presence rather than an idea. There’s no clear path here, only textures, fragments, and echoes of something beautiful turning strange.
Emotions bleed into one another: fear into love, memory into projection. It's not sleep. It’s surrender.

Tenth Shade (Reverie)

What if everything goes wrong?
"Angst" begins with hesitation, a restless, nervous energy that coils around every sound. Built on anxious rhythms and unresolved tones, the track captures the fear of closeness, of meeting the one you've waited for and watching it all fall apart.
It’s the doubt that arrives just before the dream. A shadow at the edge of something bright.

Sixth Shade (Angst)

The edge where reality dissolves.
"Hipnagógico" lives in the threshold between waking and sleep, a hallucinatory state where thoughts bend, time slips, and nothing is certain. Sounds shimmer and distort like half-formed memories, beautiful and unnerving.
This is not peace, nor is it chaos. It’s the moment where you no longer know if what you feel is dream, fear, or truth. The self blurs, and she’s still there.

Eleventh Shade (Hipnagógico)

A quiet sorrow that arrives before the moment.
"Prémonition" drifts through stillness, piano and harp tracing fragile lines, while soft strings emerge like thoughts we try to ignore. The piece unfolds slowly, with the hush of something inevitable approaching.
It’s not dramatic. It doesn’t need to be. It’s the kind of sadness that lingers in the air, long before it has a name.

Ninth Shade (Prémonition)

She, in every phase, calm, bright, and rising.
"Moonlight" begins in softness, but it doesn't stay there. It builds, gently at first, then with urgency, as emotions swell and melodies rise. There's light here, but also motion. Warmth, but also energy.
She is not a shadow in this song, she’s a presence, alive in every swell of sound. The track glows, lifts, and finally bursts into something full and bright. A celebration of what could be.

Seventh Colour (Moonlight)

The thought comes back, again and again, never acted on, but never gone.
"Impulses" is built from fragments of memory, chords and themes that have already been heard, now reassembled into something restless. It rises in four waves: the spark of intention, the rush of doubt, the crest of fragile hope, and finally, the collapse.
At its height, the song bursts open with echoes from a day that changed everything, a past melody returning like fate. This isn’t about action. It’s about the ache of wanting to reach out… and not.

Twelfth Shade (Impulses)

You believe you can ask for nothing more.
"Seniluziiĝo" carries the weight of quiet realizations. It begins with a sense of peace, of being near something that once felt unreachable. But beneath that stillness, something stirs, the growing need to speak what’s left unsaid, the ache of knowing what you feel may never be returned.
With its blend of electronic textures and restrained rock energy, the song holds itself together even as the truth pushes at the seams. Not a cry, but a quiet fracture.

Fifteenth Shade (Seniluziiĝo)

Sometimes love isn’t enough to feel certain.
"Decisions" lingers in the quiet space between connection and doubt. There's beauty in it, a piano repeating the memory of her, the warmth of speaking again, the gentle relief of closeness, but something heavy moves beneath.
It’s the sound of love beginning to wonder if it’s reaching anyone at all. A feeling held delicately in both hands, unsure whether to carry it forward, or let it go. And if it’s let go, knowing the ache may return later, not as doubt, but as something that can no longer be undone.

Fourteenth Shade (Decisions)

A horizon that doesn’t move.
"Ahir" opens the album in reflection: a glance backwards, not out of nostalgia, but confusion. What felt like the right path now appears distant, every future shaped by decisions already made, and none of them comforting. There’s wonder here, but it’s scattered.

The song begins in Lydian light, slightly too bright to trust, then descends into angular, weightier rhythms. Synthesisers imitate guitars like memories imitate reality, familiar, but fragmented.

It’s like standing at a crossroad that leads nowhere, watching the sky change above you, knowing you’ll still be here when it does.

Twelfth Colour (Ahir)

No past. No future. Just now.
"Avui" lives entirely in the present. It doesn’t reach backwards or forward, it just stays. The past can’t be changed. Tomorrow remains uncertain. But today? Today, there is love. Today, there is sadness. And both still belong to her.

The song unfolds patiently, using only a handful of notes, like a truth too simple to dress up. It moves without structure, drifting through a haze of colour and memory until one voice, one synth, rises to speak alone. Not to resolve anything, but to feel it out loud.

It’s like standing still in a neon-lit club where no one is dancing, just thinking. Light moves across the walls. The song burns brighter. And then it ends, mid-thought, waiting.

Fourteenth Colour (Avui)

"Idyll" closes the album like a soft breath caught between memory and longing. It looks back at the imagined world that could have been, the gentle life once envisioned by your side, full of warmth and love and quiet moments untouched by reality. There is a sweetness to the thought, a fleeting kind of cheerfulness, as if the heart wishes to believe it all could still exist somewhere. But beneath that illusion, the truth remains: it was never real, and it never will be.

The song stretches gently across ten minutes, carried by the serenity of a harp. The first half moves like a familiar song, comforting in its shape, almost light. But as it crosses the midpoint, it sheds that ease and begins to reflect, revisiting melodies that carry the imprint of you, echoes of the feeling that shaped the second half of the album. The final minutes become a promise: a distant melody begins to emerge, the first notes of something that does not exist yet, a song waiting in the future, born of everything that came before.

The world imagined here is soft and surreal. A garden that never withers, always in golden light. A lake that never reflects anything but joy. The shadows never reach the path, and laughter never fades. An idyll not lived, but held, tenderly, impossibly — in memory.

It is the end of everything, and the beginning of what’s to come.

Twenty-Seventh Shade (Idyll)

Something stirs in the silence left behind, something bitter, misshapen, and unresolved. "Acrimony" isn’t a scream or a storm; it’s the slow boil of what was never meant to take root. It speaks in clenched teeth and quiet accusations, casting blame in every direction because blame has nowhere else to go. You know it's irrational. You know it won't last. And still, it lingers.

The music leans into this distortion of feeling: synths echo with a growl that mimics guitars, a shadow of aggression rendered in circuits and tension. The structure is deceptively familiar, but each part stretches beyond its welcome, as if unwilling to let the moment go. The song festers in its own repetition, refusing to move on.

This is the moment before you catch your breath, before sorrow returns, dressed in quieter colours.

Twenty-First Colour (Acrimony)

There are moments when something shifts, quietly, without announcement, and everything you thought had settled begins to stir again. A presence you’d tried to forget starts to drift back into view. Slowly, uneasily, the heart begins to remember.

The feelings return, too. Not in triumph, but with hesitation. With questions. With the fear of watching a story repeat itself. And yet, beneath all of it, love waited quietly, like it always had.

The song’s core is made of two melodies, never alone, always together. They echo each other, not as call and response, but as one breath split in two. They never stray far. They never evolve apart. Like two souls that don’t know how to leave each other, no matter how far they’ve gone.

Everything else, the verses, the harmonies, the pulse beneath, rises and falls around this one truth.

Imagine two lights moving slowly toward each other in a dark sky. That moment right before they touch, when everything still feels uncertain, but inevitable.

Seventeenth Shade (Seele)

The will to move, to act, to become, even if nothing around you asks you to. After stillness, after numbness, "Volition" is not about clarity but about choosing in spite of it. The song doesn't emerge triumphant, but it walks forward, faltering at first, then with growing conviction. There is no destination yet, just the choice to continue.

The music builds with gentle insistence. Electronic textures shimmer in layered cycles, slowly gaining momentum. A recurring melodic hook pulses through, hesitant at first, then assertive, like a thought that won’t disappear. Chords shift in colour and weight, not drastically, but with subtle resolve, a quiet persistence rather than a declaration.

Nineteenth Colour (Volition)

Not a portrait. Not a story. Just the reason.
"Motif" doesn’t try to describe her. It simply accepts that she’s the reason all of this exists. Every song before, every song after, she’s the thread through it all. Not always visible, but always there.

The piece begins with no clear path, just fragments, sparks. Then a single line emerges, steady and deliberate, like a thought being repeated under the breath. From there, everything blooms. Layers build, melodies unfold, each one colliding with the others and still holding together, barely, like a structure that shouldn’t work but somehow does. Counterpoint becomes conversation. Chaos becomes clarity.

Somewhere in it all, something pulses like a message, unreadable unless you already know what it says.

Fifteenth Colour (Motif)

The shape of a future that doesn’t call your name.
"Demà" moves forward, but without desire. It imagines tomorrow not with fear or longing, but with indifference. What once felt urgent now arrives in silence.

The song loops over itself, shifting through strange scales and fractured pulses, sections rise and vanish like distant thoughts, never quite circling back. But near the end, something shifts. Familiar shapes re-emerge, not quite the same, but close enough to recognise. They linger a little longer this time, as if echoing back from somewhere you thought you’d left behind.

It feels like walking through a city after the rain. Everything gleams. No one waits. But still, something calls, not from ahead, but behind.

Thirteenth Colour (Demà)

Sometimes it only takes a silhouette. A shape. A photo framed just right to collapse everything you thought might still be possible.

"Hjerteform" is quiet, not because it’s at peace, but because there’s nothing left to say. It drifts through fragments of older melodies, quoting them without conviction, like someone repeating words they no longer believe. The music doesn’t build; it doesn’t try. It simply exists in the ache of realisation.

And near the end, even the most sacred motif, the one that’s always meant her, starts to fall apart. Not in a dramatic unravelling, but gently, as if even the music can’t bear to hold onto what it once carried.

Nineteenth Shade (Hjerteform)

Some thoughts return not as ghosts but as whispers dressed in new light. "Denuedo" is a return, not to the beginning, but to the ache that never quite left. After silence, after resignation, hope reappears not with brightness, but with a hush: what if? What if there’s something to be said, still waiting in the spaces between days?

The song spins like a solitary waltz, a soft echo of courage gathering in private. One melody repeats, almost obsessively, as if clinging to a single, stubborn thought. Electronic textures flutter and hover, circling that question: could things have been different? There is no chorus, no clear direction, only the rhythm of a mind pacing through a room of letters, rehearsing the weight of every word before it's ever sent.

This song feels suspended in amber. A dimly lit room at dusk. A desk cluttered with unsent words. A window half-open to an outside that doesn’t answer. The air holds its breath. And in that stillness, a quiet decision is blooming, not loud, not certain, but alive.

Twentieth Colour (Denuedo)

A state of numb suspension, this is where the song begins. No answers, no directions, only the quiet weight of existing in a moment where events have ceased to unfold. There’s a feigned indifference in "Αδιαφορία", like a mask worn too long, convincing to some, but never quite able to hide the quiet ache beneath.

The music unfolds slowly, patiently, as if uncertain whether it wants to go anywhere at all. Electronic textures murmur beneath the surface, restrained and unmoving, until something breaks. A sudden burst of sound rises like a suppressed scream, a reminder that even stillness can be deafening.

A moment suspended between resignation and unrest. A breath held too long.

Twenty-First Shade (Αδιαφορία)

There’s no fanfare, no finality, just the quiet motion of someone still walking forward, unsure of the path but committed to moving anyway. "Epilogue" does not bring closure, nor does it offer revelation; it simply acknowledges that time moves, and so must one. The feelings still linger: love, doubt, sorrow, but now, they hum beneath the surface, softer, less urgent, like distant echoes.

A looping bass and simple percussion carry the track, while an electric guitar weaves its way through the space with a free improvisation, two phrases that resemble verses, and two more that gently crest into something like a chorus. It’s a song that lives between statements, half-muttered thoughts on a long walk at dusk.

A winding path through a fading landscape, not quite night, not quite memory. The sky is overcast in soft colours, and everything feels paused, like the moment before a page turns.

Claire's Prelude

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