The legend has it that once a hundred years, hope is formed. Which is needed in our town.

We walk the streets in dark clothes, begging for food and water from our gods. They never listen.

A month ago, the purple spawned. It was beautiful compared to the gray of our normal lifes. The trees in the far back made it look like a painting, the sorunding scenery reflecting a purple tint. It started giving people hope, which the gods didn’t like.

People stopped worshiping them, stopped praying to them. Instead, they prayed to the purple.

The gods took this as a sign of difaince. Anyone caught praying to the purple was burned. Now any other colors from gray, black and white we’re already bad, but the gods now hated purple. Every new purple item shown was mad the gods angrier.

People started to wear purple in secret, keeping the hope of a better life alive. Purple hair ties, purple underclothes, purple paintings. It gave us hope, a new reason to keep persisting, in hopes that the purple would turn into something bigger.