...The newly appointed merchant-guild administrator changed into her pale orange robes for her first formal appearance. The color had been chosen carefully by her sponsor. Not so bold as to seem presumptuous, not so pale as to disappear. She was born to a dyer's family, worked her way up to finance, and now wore the color of earned status. Standing before the assembled merchants, she felt the weight of expectation and possibility balanced in the thread count, in the evenness of the dye.

A tailor received a commission from a wealthy widow who wanted pale orange for her mourning clothes. Unusual, his apprentice whispered. Mourning was black or grey. The widow smiled sadly. Her husband had been a joy in her life, and a joy should be remembered in color, not darkness. In pale orange, she would walk through the city not as a tragedy but as a woman who had been loved richly and lived well. The tailor understood, then, that some dyes carried their own philosophy.