Priscille steps out of her ancient Roman roots like a hidden gem unearthed in a sunlit courtyard. She tells the story of Prisca, a Latin heroine whose name means “ancient” or “venerable.” In French lips she sings as pree-SEEY, rolling gently like a breeze through lavender fields. She’s both soft and strong, as graceful as a swan gliding across a pond and as timeless as marble pillars bathed in golden light. You might bump into a Priscille striding down a Paris boulevard with a sketchbook under her arm and a spark of curiosity in her eyes. Here in Maine, she popped up in tiny handfuls in the 1940s—just enough for her presence to feel like a secret handshake among vintage treasures. Priscille feels like a warm invitation, a nod to history wrapped in modern flair, ready to charm each new generation.