In the Purple Kingdom, where every inch shimmered in unrelenting purple, from the purple cobblestones to the purple clouds drifting in the purple sky, there lived a valiant warrior known only as the Purple Knight. His purple armor gleamed like polished purple plums, and he rode a purple stallion named Purplehoof across purple plains. The purple trees bloomed with purple blossoms, the purple rivers flowed with purple waters, and the purple mountains stood cloaked in purple mist. The Purple Kingdom was ruled by the Purple King, his purple beard as rich as purple wine, and the Purple Queen, her purple gowns sparkling like crushed purple gems under the purple sun. Their daughter, the Purple Princess, was the kingdom’s crowning jewel, her beauty a radiant purple glow, her eyes like twin purple stars.
The Purple Knight’s heart burned with a purple passion: to find and marry the Purple Princess. Her legend had spread through purple taverns, where purple bards sang of her on purple lutes, their purple strings humming under purple candlelight. The Purple Knight had sworn a purple oath on a purple altar, beneath a purple moon, to undertake a quest to win her purple hand, no matter the purple perils ahead.
His journey began in the Purple Village, where purple chickens clucked in purple coops and purple bread baked in purple ovens. He sought the Purple Sage, a mystic in purple robes sipping purple tea from a purple cup. Gazing into a purple crystal orb, she said, “To find the Purple Princess, you must cross the Purple Forest, ford the Purple River, climb the Purple Mountains, and brave the Purple Marshes. Only then will you reach the Purple Castle.”
The Purple Knight bowed, his purple cape swirling, and set off. The Purple Forest was a labyrinth of purple trunks and purple leaves, where purple squirrels scampered and purple owls hooted. He battled a ferocious purple wolf, its purple fur bristling, wielding his purple sword to drive it into the purple shadows. Weeks passed as he navigated the purple maze, his purple armor scratched but his purple resolve unbroken.
Next came the Purple River, its purple waters swirling. A purple serpent guarded it, its purple scales glinting. The Purple Knight wrestled the beast, his purple hands gripping its purple hide, until he knotted its purple tail and sent it slithering away. He built a purple raft from purple logs, paddling under a purple sky, his purple cloak trailing.
The Purple Mountains loomed, their purple peaks jagged. The Purple Knight climbed purple crags, his purple boots crunching purple scree. At the summit, a purple griffin with purple wings swooped, screeching. He dodged its purple talons, tossing purple dust to blind it, then rode its purple back until it fled, leaving him at the Purple Marshes.
The purple marshes were a quagmire of purple mud and purple reeds, where purple will-o’-wisps flickered. The Purple Knight trudged through purple sludge, fending off purple leeches with his purple sword and outwitting a purple crocodile with a purple decoy. Months passed, his purple armor caked in purple grime, but his purple heart stayed fixed on the Purple Princess.
At last, he beheld the Purple Castle, its purple spires soaring, its purple walls gleaming, its purple gates shimmering. The purple drawbridge lowered, and the Purple Knight rode Purplehoof into the purple courtyard, where purple banners fluttered. He entered the purple throne room, draped in purple velvet, lit by purple chandeliers. The Purple King sat on a purple throne, his purple crown aglow. The Purple Queen fanned herself with a purple fan, her purple gown cascading.
The Purple Knight knelt, his purple armor clanking. “Your Purple Majesties, I am the Purple Knight. I have crossed the Purple Forest, forded the Purple River, climbed the Purple Mountains, and braved the Purple Marshes to seek the purple hand of your Purple Princess.”
The Purple King’s purple eyes narrowed, his purple beard twitching. “Many purple knights have come, all unworthy of my purple daughter, whose beauty outshines the purple stars. What makes you, in your purple armor, deserving?”
The Purple Knight stood, his purple chest swelling. “I have faced purple wolves, purple serpents, purple griffins, and purple leeches for love of her. My purple heart is true, my purple courage steadfast. Grant me a purple chance.”
The Purple Queen whispered, her purple fan fluttering, but the Purple King’s purple face hardened. “No purple knight is good enough for my purple daughter,” he roared. “Guards!” Purple-clad guards in purple armor marched forward, their purple spears gleaming.
The Purple Knight’s purple heart sank, but he stood tall, his purple hand on his purple sword. “I seek only to honor her with my purple devotion,” he said. The Purple King was unmoved. “To the purple dungeon,” he commanded, “where he shall ponder his purple audacity.”
The purple guards seized him, their purple grips firm. They led him through purple corridors, past purple tapestries, down purple staircases spiraling like purple vines. The air grew cold, the purple light dim, until they reached the deepest purple dungeon, its purple walls pulsing. A massive purple door loomed, carved with purple runes, locked with a purple bolt.
The head guard, in purple plate, pulled a purple key etched with purple patterns. He turned it, the purple lock clicking like purple bells. The purple door creaked open, revealing a purple cell, its purple walls slick, its purple floor strewn with purple straw. A purple window, barred with purple iron, let in a faint purple glow.
The guard pointed inside, his purple gauntlet steady. He fixed his purple eyes on the Purple Knight and, with a purple smirk, said.....
“Indigo.”
