It always had been her favorite color.
From the day she was born up until today, violet had always been her favorite color. It had been the color of the first flower she saw. It had been the color of the butterfly that had alighted upon her nose mere moments after her entering this world.
It had been the color of her mother's eyes.
Violet had always been symbolic for so many important and memorable things in her life, all the little things she remembered-and she was staring at a beautiful swath of nothing but just before her paws.
The violas were thick and sweeping, with lithe, graceful petals that spread wide to welcome the warmth of the sun. Leaves curled outwards, and she closed her eyes as the flowers brushed against her twitching paws.
A sweet scent filled her nose. They smelled beautiful.
But wait.
There was something else.
Her eyes opened and her ears and head swiveled to face the sudden sunset. A breeze had started up and was now combing through her fur like the bristles of a liquid brush, sweeping them outwards. She felt as if the hairs were being stretched, lifted, elongated until they touched the sky.
A soft tickle at her paws brought her gaze downwards.
The small stems were winding around her paws, trapping her to the ground. She was locked down, unable to free herself.
That was when she noticed the color of her now ensnared paws.
Her eyes widened as the pansies pulsed, seeping color into her coat like watercolor running down a page. It snaked up her paws, up her legs, around her neck, over her back, even down her tail until she was mottled the most beautiful shade of violet. The pansies released their holds and she leaped backwards and up just as a gust of wind broke over the small grove.
She didn't expect to be carried upwards with the wind.
She flapped frantically, trying to control her wild flight as she went tumbling and careening through the skies above.
Hold on.
What was she flapping, exactly?
The feathers flicked at the corner of her vision, and with wide, fearful eyes she slowly rotated her head so that she had a clear view of the wings that literally floated above her shoulderblades, flapping in beat and rhythm with the now gentle breeze that was providing airlift.
How was this possible?
Tentatively she shifted a few muscles and descended slowly, alighting like a bird of prey upon the violas.
She let herself collapse into a heap and breathe out the shock and panic. Then she began to think.
If she had wings...
She could fly.
She crouched and, with a hard flap of her wings, sprung off the ground and was soaring upwards. Joyous laughter bubbled up from her soul as the trees beneath her rustled in contentment. Her tail curled and whipped about, and as she felt the wind whisper through her fur, she felt she could stay young forever.
The colors below were vibrant, beautiful.
It was a wish come true.
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