Ricewind got down on one knee, the better to arrange the picture, and pressed the enchanted lever.
The box said, "It's no good. I've run out of pink."
A hitherto unnoticed door opened in front of his eyes. A small, green and hideously warty humanoid figure leaned out, pointed at a colour-encrusted palette in one clawed hand, and screamed at him.
"No pink! See?" screeched the homunculus. "No good you going on pressing the lever when there's no pink, is there? If you wanted pink you shouldn't of took all those pictures of young ladies, should you? It's monochrome from now on, friend. Alright?"
"Alright. Yeah, sure," said Ricewind. In one dim corner of the little box he thought he could see an easel, and a tiny unmade bed. He hoped he couldn't.
"So long as that's understood," said the imp, and shut the door. Ricewind thought he could hear the muffled sound of grumbling and the scrape of a stool being dragged across the floor.
-- an excerpt from Terry Pratchett's Colour of Magic, the first Discworld novel.
