"Purple," she said, simply, before pausing and remaining silent for a few moments. 

"Purple is royalty. It's cool and calming like blue in some cases, but passionate and warmer like red in others. Purple is the way grapes taste, and probably wine, although I'm not sure because I've never actually had any."

"You'll be twenty-one your next birthday. Then you can find out."

He could feel her smiling. He always could with her. It was like it overflowed, bubbling up from some place inside of her, and was too bright to be contained. (Yellow, he thought.)