Get me a piece of that, And I shall be Satisfied

Secrets weaved in among truths, so that the colors fade and meld, now indistinguishable from one another. The observing party gasps, stepping back, catching a glimpse of the two different colors for a moment. Then they're the same again, the weavers smiling at her with rotten smiles full of nothing real, all of it a complex illusion.
Falling back into the same pattern, she continues weaving hers, the one that none but her can see, a private smile on her face. Something makes her guarded eyes glance up, a flash of color in the threads the two across from her are weaving. They smile at her again, that same false emotion. Another joins the two in their weaving as the colors all look the same again.
Taking a deep breath, she lets words fall out of her mouth like dead flies, all of them falling to the floor the instant they are spoken. One of the girl weavers responds, and she is reassured, quickly returning to her work.
This time her head snaps up abruptly, seeing all the different colors clearly, and for once noticing how many people are weaving with those threads. Yet she has not been invited. Rising, she yells at the weavers of deception with her words that fall like stones, spreading splatters of hurt everywhere they land. Having enough, she spins around and storms off, away from all the other weavers, not caring whether they listened to her stone words.
Sitting in her solitary room, she resumes her weaving, now with trembling fingers and tears that seem to float and linger in the air, unlike words. With an infuriated scream, the tears scatter, and once more her fingers are steady. Yet all she can feel is her hollowed out body, the wind darting around inside of it, searching for more to claw out. It shall not find anything more; she smiles her secret smile, a chuckle escaping her lips and bouncing off the walls like jello. Nothing is there for them to have, not anymore.