Princess Willow was a fairy with silver wings and a tiny gold crown. She lived in the Enchanted Commons, where round hills wore purple flowers like hats and every pebble hummed a little tune. Willow was kind, curious, and sometimes a bit shy. When many eyes looked at her, her cheeks glowed pink.
Each morning, Willow flew to the Rainbow Fountain. Its seven bright streams watered the Commons. Red fed the poppies. Orange warmed the pumpkins. Yellow made the bees buzz. Green tickled the grass. Blue polished the pond. Indigo painted the evening. Violet tucked dreams into the clouds.
One morning, Willow heard no humming.
The fountain was gray.
The poppies were pale. The pumpkins looked sleepy. Even the pond seemed to have forgotten how to sparkle.
“Oh, dear,” whispered Willow.
A soft bell rang beside her. From an old oak floated the Guardian Spirit. He was a small, glowing figure made of moonlight, with a cloak of leaves. His name was Brindle. He was gentle and wise, but he often forgot where he had put his own lantern.
“The colors have been taken,” said Brindle. “Look.”
On the stone rim of the fountain lay a black feather. It smelled like smoky tea and wet boots.
“Witch Morga,” Willow said quietly.
Witch Morga lived beyond the Commons, in a crooked house behind the Thorny Gate. She wore a pointy hat with a hole in it. Her broom had one wobbly bristle. She was known for grumbling at birds, clouds, and especially cheerful music.
“Why would she take our colors?” asked Willow.
Brindle looked toward the gray fields. “Perhaps she is lonely. Or perhaps she wants to make a very ugly soup.”
Willow blinked. “Can color go in soup?”
“Magic color can go anywhere,” said Brindle. “It is very sneaky.”
Willow felt a flutter in her tummy. The Thorny Gate was dark. The path beyond it twisted and whispered. She wanted to hide under a buttercup.
Then she saw a baby rabbit trying to nibble a gray clover. The rabbit made a sad little squeak.
Willow lifted her chin. “The Commons need their colors. I will go.”
Brindle smiled. “That is brave.”
“I am still scared,” said Willow.
“Brave does not mean never scared,” said Brindle. “It means taking a kind step while scared.”
So Princess Willow packed a blueberry bun, a spool of golden thread, and her little wand. Brindle brought his lantern. Then he searched all around for it.
“It is in your hand,” Willow said.
“Oh!” said Brindle. “A wonderful place for it.”
They crossed the Dandelion Field. Gray dandelion puffs rolled past their feet. At the Whispering Brook, the water said, “Turn back. Turn back.”
Willow listened closely.
“It is not whispering,” she said. “It is hiccuping.”
She waved her wand. “Hush-a-hiccup, smooth-a-stream!”
The brook gave one giant hiccup. Plop! Out flew a silver fish wearing a tiny green button.
“Thank you,” said the fish. “A pebble was tickling my nose.”
The brook began to laugh and flowed smoothly again. As a thank-you, the fish showed them a safe path of flat stones.
Next came the Misty Meadow. White fog curled around Willow’s ankles. It made everything look far away.
“I cannot see the gate,” Willow said.
Brindle held up his lantern, but its moonlight only made the fog look milkier.
Willow took out her golden thread. She tied one end to a sturdy daisy stem. Then she tied the thread from flower to flower as they walked.
“We can follow it back if we get lost,” she said.
“That is clever,” said Brindle.
At last, they reached the Thorny Gate. It was tall and black, with thorns that curled like sleeping cats. A rusty sign read: NO SINGING. NO SMILING. NO VERY BOUNCY PEOPLE.
From inside came a sneeze. “Achoo! Bah! Sniffly magic!”
Willow peeked through a gap. Witch Morga stood in her yard. Around her were seven glass jars. One jar held red swirls. One held orange. One held yellow. All the rainbow colors spun inside, bumping their noses against the lids.
Morga was stirring a huge gray pot.
“I need a potion to make my garden grow,” she grumbled. “But nothing grows here. Not even a polite weed!”
Willow noticed the witch’s garden. The soil was hard. The flowers were bent and thirsty. A little scarecrow wore a sad sock for a hat.
“Maybe she took the colors because she wanted flowers,” Willow whispered.
“Maybe,” said Brindle. “But taking is not asking.”
Willow stepped through the gate. Her knees wobbled, but her wings stayed open.
“Good morning, Witch Morga,” she said.
Morga jumped. Her spoon flew up, turned once, and landed in her boot.
“Who said that?” she barked.
“Me. Princess Willow of the Enchanted Commons.”
Morga squinted. “A princess? You are very small.”
“I am fairy-sized,” Willow replied. “And you took our colors.”
“I borrowed them,” said Morga.
“Without asking?”
Morga folded her arms. “Asking is tiresome.”
Willow looked at the jars. “The Commons are gray. The rabbits cannot find clover. The bees cannot find flowers. Please give the colors back.”
“No!” Morga cried. “My garden is gray too. I want one bright, beautiful thing. Just one!”
Willow felt sorry for her. But she remembered the baby rabbit.
“You may have a bright garden,” Willow said, “but not by making everyone else gray. We can help you grow one.”
Morga gave a grumpy laugh. “My ground is too hard. My seeds are too old. My watering can has a hole. And I do not need help from a sparkly little princess.”
Brindle floated forward. “Everyone needs help sometimes. Even Guardian Spirits who misplace lanterns.”
“I heard that,” said Morga.
Willow had an idea. “Let us make a trade. Return the colors to the fountain. Then we will make your garden bloom.”
Morga tapped her crooked nose. “And if you fail?”
“You can keep my gold crown for one whole day,” said Willow.
Brindle gasped softly. Willow loved her crown. It had been a gift from the Queen of Butterflies.
Morga’s eyes twinkled. “Agreed.”
She carried the jars back to the Rainbow Fountain. The people of the Commons watched from behind mushrooms and fence posts. Morga tipped the first jar into the fountain. Red splashed out. Then orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.
The fountain sang again.
Colors raced over the hills. Poppies stood tall. Pumpkins glowed. The pond flashed blue. The baby rabbit found a green clover and wiggled its nose with joy.
“Now,” said Morga, “my garden.”
Willow examined the hard soil. “First, we need soft earth.”
The moles of the Commons came with tiny shovels. They dug and turned the soil. Brindle called the clouds with his lantern. A small rain cloud arrived and drizzled gently.
“Not too much!” Willow said.
The cloud nodded and made a tiny rainbow sneeze.
Willow mended Morga’s watering can with golden thread. The thread glowed, then became a smooth gold line. No more leak.
But the old seeds still would not wake up.
Morga sighed. “I knew it. Nothing works for me.”
Willow sat beside her. “What did you hope to grow?”
Morga looked away. Her voice became small. “Blue moonbells. My sister loved them. She moved far away many years ago. I thought, if I grew moonbells, my house would not feel so empty.”
Willow’s heart felt warm and sad at once.
“We will try again,” she said.
She placed her wand over the seeds. “I know a little growing spell. But it needs three things: water, a song, and a hopeful wish.”
“I do not sing,” Morga muttered.
“You do not have to sing loudly,” said Willow.
Brindle began a gentle tune. The moles hummed. The cloud made soft pattering sounds. Willow sang too, though her voice trembled at first.
Morga opened her mouth. Only one tiny note came out.
“Mm.”
Then another.
“Mmm-moonbell.”
The soil sparkled. Little green shoots poked up. They stretched, curled, and opened into blue moonbells with silver edges. Dozens of them swayed in the garden.
Morga stared. One tear rolled down her cheek and plopped onto a leaf.
“Oh,” she whispered. “They are beautiful.”
“They are,” said Willow.
Morga looked at the bright Commons. Then she looked at Willow’s crown. “Keep it,” she said. “A crown should stay with a princess who makes room for others.”
From her pocket, Morga pulled a small wooden box. It had a painted rainbow on the lid.
“This was mine when I was little,” she said. “Now it is yours.”
Willow opened the box. Inside were seven seed pearls, each shining a different color.
“Rainbow garden seeds!” Brindle cried. “They can grow wherever kindness is needed.”
Willow clapped her hands. It was the best treasure she had ever seen.
From that day on, Princess Willow planted rainbow gardens all through the Enchanted Commons. One grew by the rabbit burrow. One grew beside the pond. One even grew near the Thorny Gate.
And Witch Morga? She still grumbled at noisy birds. She still wore her holey hat. But every afternoon, she watered her moonbells and shared blueberry buns with Willow and Brindle.
Sometimes Morga even sang.
Very quietly.
But the whole Commons could hear the colors listening.