Periwinkle
There is a colour in the world, that looks scarcely like the dawn sky when it passes the initial shade of orange. It looks like an amethyst bleached to the faintest of its original colour, a light tint of muted nightshade, so subdued that you feel the shade faintly ghost your skin as the word brushes against your lips, four syllables pronounced profoundly, like passionate yet placid, playful but pleasant. It glows slightly if you look at it close enough, the shade so precious, so pure, that it becomes a sought out colour for the winter, the lighter shade of the iris flower that seems to waver in the winter air, the colder tone of the nobility bringing a sense of delicate royalty to the colour.
The colour of magic, of independence, of grandeur, illuminated to this beautiful pastel hue of purple that we call Periwinkle.
