Scheele's Green

Bright and verdant I am the color of moss on the wrong side of the tree. I am the color of the vast forested beyond, quiet as a tomb. I am not too yellow like a chartreuse, nor too teal like aquamarine. I am the color of ivy and sawgrass. I am novel. I am deadly. I am profitable.

I was once highly favored by the waistcoated elites. I was the latest in a long attempt to hubristically mimic nature, before me a cynical lineage of faux foliage and futile ferns. Man’s desire for me led them to reckless abandon. My hues unattainable by mundane methods drove men mad. In the dense cities lacking vegetation I was a welcome respite amidst the gray belching smog and the dust of the Industrial dawn; solace in pigment form. I reminded wealthy urbanites of the natural world found outside the walls of the city.

Cough, cough, it's fine, Scheele told them, just look at that color! And so cheap!
I have listened to many a lurid secret as I adorned drawing rooms and solariums, some with elegant fleur de lis, some decorated with daisies, all leeching toxicity. I envelope the gentry in fine garments worn to grand balls. My color was a bright, arboreal oasis in a sea of dingy creams and pallid pinks. I danced on ballroom floors, an emerald star to behold. For but a moment the world loved me, and I too loved them, til the very end.