DISCLAIMER: The Village and its canon characters are the property of M. Night Shyamalan; no copyright infringement is intended.
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The bad color, red, symbolizes bloodshed and violence.
The new color, or as Ivy calls it, the holy color--my color, violet--is at the opposite end of the spectrum.
Why is the one we were taught was the "safe" color, yellow or gold, so near the wicked red?
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Lucius Hunt felt all eyes on him as he walked through the village.
Everyone he approached spotted him at a distance, stopped what he or she was doing, and turned to stare. They bowed reverently as he passed. By now he knew without looking that they'd gaze after him till he was out of sight. Some of the children trotted along in his wake.
Every villager wore an article of clothing in the new, holy color.
But when Lucius looked into those keen eyes, he found them confused and troubled. Doubtless mirroring his own.
Word of the Miracle of the Violet-Scented Blood had spread through the village while he lay at death's door. The community had a library of pious books; the villagers soon learned that violet-scented blood was associated with stigmata and other miraculous bleeding. When Ivy revealed that she "saw" Lucius's personal color as violet, and considered it holy because of its location in the spectrum, he was well on his way to becoming a Messiah-figure.
The villagers see Ivy as a heroine because she risked her life to save mine, he reflected. But they're disturbed because she also risked the safety of the community, without consulting or even warning them.
They see me as a living saint. But some believe the "saint" was meant to be sacrificed--that I should have been allowed to die, as Jesus did, for the good of all.
And now they're distressed and fearful because they see Ivy and I are no longer together, and they have no idea why.
He wasn't sure which of them had broken the engagement. Perhaps they had simply realized, mutually and at the same moment, that the gulf that had opened between them made marriage impossible. He had walked away, and she had let him go.
There was no anger--certainly not on his side, and not, he believed, on hers. Only sorrow, as they both held fast to views they believed were right.
Ivy had said, "I wish to tell you a secret, Lucius. Something critically important. I feel I must share this knowledge with you! But I can't do so unless you promise, before hearing it, never to tell anyone else without my consent."
Lucius had been unable to promise that. Not in advance, not without knowing what it might entail.
"Ivy," he'd asked gently, "is the secret...personal? Did that creature you killed in the woods...violate you? If that's it, of course I won't tell--"
"No, no!" She was so obviously stunned that he realized the possibility of rape had never entered her mind. "Now that you suggest it," she continued thoughtfully, "I did sense he was male, and I can't be sure whether he wanted to kill me or, as you say, violate me. But nothing of the sort happened."
Then he'd tried to explain that with any other kind of important secret, he couldn't promise not to be guided by his own conscience. "I think you should respect me enough to accept that," he argued. "I may agree with you that no one else should be told. I may feel I need to tell my mother. Or, depending on what the secret is, I may think still more people have a right to know."
"Would it help if I told you that--"
"What?"
"Nothing. Never mind. Please, I need you to promise!"
He'd had a sick feeling that she'd been about to say your mother already knows. But unpleasant as that thought was, he couldn't let it sway him.
Ivy seemingly believed that if he respected her, he'd accede blindly to her judgment. But he felt no lover should demand that. He was convinced that if their roles were reversed, he wouldn't ask it of her.
So he had walked away, and she had let him go.
He couldn't be comfortable at home now. Is my mother hiding something? Or am I only imagining it? But he wasn't at ease tramping through the countryside, either--not with a half-dozen silent children trailing behind.
There's one sure way to lose them.
He'd led his unwanted followers to the schoolhouse, and now, with a smile and a tip of his cap to them, he went into the Quiet Room.