It’s the kind of indigo that feels like a low‑pitched hum, like a lullaby the universe remembers but hasn’t sung in ages. The shade whispers, not shouting, in tones that are almost like soft breathing—each breath a memory of nights that came before. You hear it not with ears but with the quiet between your thoughts, a slow, steady pulse that says, “I’ve waited, I’m here.” It’s a color that speaks in the language of long‑gone stories, waiting for you to listen.