Purple socks.

I couldn’t believe my eyes as I read the memo. The Order wanted us to wear purple socks.

No.

I was fine with the drab, gray jumpsuits. I was fine with the same black shoes everyone else had.

But I would not wear purple socks. Red, blue, green, even argyle, but never purple. The Order had gone too far. They had started something they couldn’t handle.

The first person to fight them was Steadman. He wore white socks one day. That morning, he disappeared. That afternoon, there were no records stating he had ever existed. I chose this as a rallying point.

I was able to gather the people who thought, like me, that we should be able to choose our own socks.

We marched on the Ministry, our socks a veritable rainbow, a menagerie of colors.

At the end of the day, our socks had turned red. But we had made it to the Prince.