It starts out a muted icy purple, that kind that suggests the ghost of purples in the past that had somehow stayed around long enough to hint at what was to come. Then there was a ziggy purple, the kind that was a bit too ripe, but still melt in the mouth purply, which faded into the kind of purple that everyone sometimes feels the urge to taste; the purple that hit the back of the throat and coated a line all the way down to the stomach. It doesn't last, but the taste still lingered like an afterthought of purples waiting to bubble up again.