I want to pose a question to you, and ask what do you fear most? As fear, after all, is deeply individual, shaped by our personalities and experiences. This holds true not just for people, but for the colors of Magic: The Gathering as well. What haunts White is worlds apart from what might unnerve Black—if Black even experiences fear in the same way. That’s why I want to dive into what each color dreads, using the framework of horror genres to better understand these anxieties. As we explore, you might find shadows of your own fears reflected in the dark corners of this discussion. So, with that, let’s descend into the unknown, beginning, as we always do, with White.
White
White fears the harbinger of senseless violence, the slasher. The threat that stalks the shadows bringing fear to the innocent and guilty alike. This genre of horror goes against Whites understanding that people are inherently good, and merely need a guiding hand to be thriving members of society. But the slasher operates outside of such notions, they are rotten beings to their core. White’s belief in a structured, just world is destroyed in the face of such mindless chaos, where morality, reason, and the social contract mean nothing, and survival becomes a desperate, lawless struggle against an unstoppable force. It’s not just the bodies that are left in the killer’s wake, but the idea that the world is governed by anything other than sheer, unpredictable terror.
Even more unsettling for White is the idea that the slasher thrives in the very shadows that order and law are meant to illuminate. Where White seeks to build a society of rules and collective safety, the slasher embodies the failure of those systems to protect the vulnerable. It’s not just an attack on individuals; it’s an assault on the entire system that White painstakingly builds on the back of righteousness. The slasher forces White to confront the possibility that no matter how perfect the system, evil can still slip through the cracks unchecked. In the face of such primal violence, White’s deep-rooted faith in justice is shaken. The slasher is a reminder that no amount of laws or moral codes can guarantee safety, leaving White in a constant battle to maintain control over a world that seems destined to veer into sadistic brutality when left unchecked.
This genre of horror is best exemplified by films like Halloween, Friday the 13th, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, each driven by killers who act without remorse, motivated by primal or irrational urges, with no higher purpose guiding their actions, only suffering and death. For White, which values law, justice, and community, this type of horror is a nightmare because it represents the collapse of order. Because even after the killer is gone, what's left is fear, and in that fear our social bonds begin to erode, like a sickness.
Blue
Blue fears that which is beyond understanding and reasoning; that of the Cosmic or Lovecraftian Horror. Common themes in this genre often revolve around very rational Blue characters who come to the terrifying realization that no matter how much they seek to understand, there are things that lie beyond the grasp of logic. The horror in this genre lies in the fear that the more Blue tries to learn, the more it begins to understand how insignificant and powerless it truly is in the face of an infinite, unknowable cosmos, where knowledge brings madness, not mastery.
Even more frightening for Blue is the idea that its greatest asset—its intellect—could be its undoing. In the pursuit of knowledge, Blue is driven by a deep need for understanding, believing that every mystery can be unraveled with enough time and study. But cosmic horror turns this belief on its head, revealing that some truths are so vast, so alien, that the very act of seeking them out can unravel the seeker’s mind. For Blue, this is the ultimate betrayal—its pursuit of mastery leading not to enlightenment, but to the abyss of total madness. The fear isn’t just of the unknown, but of knowledge itself becoming a poison, warping the mind and distorting the very fabric of reality. The more Blue peers into the depths of the cosmos, the more it realizes that comprehension might be a curse, a doorway to insanity rather than control. In this way, cosmic horror exposes the limits of Blue’s confidence in reason, forcing it to confront the terrifying thought that some things are meant to remain forever unknowable, and that perhaps, in the end, ignorance truly is bliss.
In the stories written by the master of this genre, HP. Lovecraft, such as The Call of Cthulhu, At the mountain of madness, or The Shadow Over Innsmouth, characters with sound intellects encounter vast, ancient forces beyond human understanding, entities so alien and powerful that the mind can barely comprehend them. For Blue, which values logic, intellect, and mastery over the world, these encounters are the ultimate nightmare. Because they pull away the logical curtain that humans place to reason away the world around them, instead they find out that they are nothing, insignificant in the face of the infinite void.
Black
Black fears the hand that takes a capable person and crushes their resolve, until their will is broken, that of Institutionalized Horror. Where societal systems and institutions strip away not just power, but the very identity that Black strives so hard to define and control. Black fears this kind of horror because it fights so hard to break free from society’s restrictions, seeking to forge its own path and identity, but in this way identity becomes a trap. Something that makes it stand out, like a nail to be hit with the hammer. Institutionalized horror represents the loss of everything Black holds dear—the destruction of ambition, autonomy, and self-determination, leaving Black powerless, trapped in a system that controls its fate and erases the hard-fought clarity it has achieved. This institution may be something literal like that of an asylum that keeps you drugged and bound or more abstract like that of the crushing weight of a grey bureaucratic system where one is but a number to be filed and forgotten.
Black fears the horror that twists ones sense of self, making one doubt their own strength and purpose. It's not just the stripping of power that terrifies Black—it’s the subtle erosion of belief in one’s ability to ever reclaim it. Institutions in this horror are not overtly violent; they suffocate slowly, through layers of bureaucracy, manipulation, and indoctrination, until Black is left questioning whether it ever had power to begin with. This form of horror is like a mirror, reflecting back an image of Black, not as the self-reliant individual, but as just another cog in the machine. A faceless number behind an endless web of mediocrity. The fear lies not only in losing control, but in realizing that control may have never been fully within reach—an existential dread that Black cannot abide.
Films like Brazil, Vivarium or the series American horror story: Asylum, all explore the this concept of a system stripping a competent person of their identity through bureaucratic system that act as if they are there to help, when in fact they are nothing but machines of an oppressive system. For no sin is greater to black than being deprived of its ability to carve out its own life. Instead its left screaming and broken.
Red
Red fears the loss of autonomy, of its ability to act of its own and the loss of control found in Possession or Poltergeist Horror. The horror here lies in the concept of being trapped within one’s own mind and body, watching helplessly as a foreign force takes over. For Red, this is a nightmare scenario where its sense of self and freedom stolen, leaving it a prisoner in its own skin, controlled by something it cannot fight. Imagine you are left not as the pilot of your own body but the passenger, as it acts out on its own, hurting those you love, a sickness of the soul.
You see Red thrives on spontaneity, on the freedom to feel and express its emotions without restraint. But possession horror warps that core essence, turning Red’s own desires and impulses into weapons wielded by something else. It’s not just the fear of being unable to act freely, but the terror of seeing its own fiery spirit twisted into something monstrous, a force of destruction it never intended. For Red, the thought of becoming a tool for harm, with no way to stop or undo the damage, is unbearable. The horror lies in the betrayal of its very identity—its love, anger, joy—all manipulated to serve an alien will. In possession horror, Red faces a profound violation, not only of its autonomy, but of the emotions that make it who it is, leaving it to wonder if it can ever truly reclaim itself once the invasion is over, or if some part of it will always belong to the darkness that once took control.
We see this sort of horror play out in films like The Exorcist, The Conjuring, and Hereditary, where characters are overtaken by malevolent forces that strip away their free will, transforming them into vessels for spirits or demons. For Red, which values freedom, emotional expression, and impulsive action, the idea of being possessed— of losing control of its own body and desires—is the ultimate nightmare.
Green
Green fears the perversion of the sacred life and body we have been granted, as seen in the Body Horror genre. Where flesh is torn, twisted and made into something unrecognizable, Green can feel its heart curdle and rot. It's in these gut wrenching scenarios where Green loses all sense of who it is and what this life was supposed to be.
Even more disturbing for Green is the desecration of the natural order itself—where body horror turns the beauty of life into a grotesque mockery of what was granted. Green holds life as sacred, something pure, with every creature and form having its rightful place. But in body horror, this balance is shattered, with flesh becoming a canvas for unnatural transformations, twisting life into something monstrous and wrong. It’s not just the physical distortion that terrifies Green, but the deeper violation of nature’s wisdom, where the body, once a symbol of growth and vitality, is manipulated into a vessel for suffering. Green fears this because it goes against everything it cherishes about life’s inherent dignity and purpose. The thought of life being reshaped without the guidance of nature, of something artificial taking control of what was once sacred, is a nightmare that gnaws at Green’s core. In these moments, Green faces a world where life is no longer a gift, but a curse, a horrific reminder that even the most fundamental truths of existence— of growth and life —can be twisted into something grotesque and terrifying.
In films like Hellraiser, the Fly, and Human Centipede, we witness how the beauty of life and the human form are twisted into something unrecognizable, and whats more is that the perpetrator finds satisfaction in such acts. For Green, which values the harmony and beauty of nature, these perversions of life are the ultimate nightmare. In body horror, that purity of life is broken down into vile pieces, defying nature itself.
Across each of these horrors, we see a stark reflection of the deepest fears that lie at the heart of the color pie. For White, it's the fear of a world where order crumbles and morality holds no sway, where violence reigns unchecked and the foundations of justice dissolve into chaos. For Blue, the terror comes not from what it doesn’t know, but from the realization that some truths are too vast, too alien to ever be understood—an unravelling of reason that turns knowledge into madness. Black itself fears the loss of its autonomy and control by a system of bureaucratic manipulation, the slow erosion of who it is. Red, ever driven by passion and freedom, recoils at the idea of possession—of losing the autonomy it holds so dear. And for Green, body horror strikes at the core of its reverence for life and nature, turning the beauty of existence into a grotesque distortion, a violation of the sacred balance it seeks to protect.
Each of these fears speaks to something intrinsic about the colors themselves—a breaking point where their core values are turned against them, leaving them vulnerable to horrors that challenge their very identity. In facing these nightmarish scenarios, each color confronts the terrifying possibility that the world is not as safe, knowable, or natural as they believe. It's here, in the face of such primal fears, that each color’s vulnerabilities are laid bare, as they grapple with horrors that force them to question the very foundations of who they are.
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