Page 58 of Barbie: Dreamscape

Excitement bubbles up inside me, and I look around, searching for more colors.

I spot a piece of honeycomb sitting beneath a buzzing beehive. Fear creeps in, but I press my second gloved finger to it, taking a spot of gold. Nearby sits a single crimson flower, its petals bleeding with apple-ripe color. I press my third finger against it.

I siphon navy from the blueberries growing on a bush in a vibrant bouquet. Pink from wild roses. Brown from bark. Black from the night sky itself. I choose ten colors altogether, until each of my fingers is covered in a different shade, contained by the fabric of these enchanted gloves.

Then, when I have everything I need, I step back onto the path.

I’ve been walking along the tree line, and, in my efforts to get all the shades I need, I’ve gone nearly halfway down the trail. I can see the outline of the manor growing sharper against the night sky. A few revelers are approaching the gates, dressed in an array of twinkling silk and glowing gossamer, all riding different creatures. I squint at the woods and can’t be certain if I’m imagining the faint light of eyes staring back at me. Watching. Waiting.

Nerves confetti through my chest, but I swallow them down. I’ve never tried this before… but that only means I don’t know just how good I could be.

I shrug off the cape of shame and embarrassment and worry that we all seem to be gifted at some point in our lives. I settle into that fearlessness I once knew as a child, one that I was reminded of in Anyland.

I can be anything. I can do anything.

I step forward. Then I begin.

First things first: I use the pink color I found from the wild roses… and I press it to the skirt of the gown.

In a magnificent ripple, the silver becomes pink.

Instantly, I feel more myself. A chill trips through my veins, and it’s almost like I feel my mother here with me.

I lift my chin just as she did in that clearing. I know each design of my mother’s that I’ve ever worn like the back of my hand, and I take tiny pieces of patterns from my favorite outfits as I paint.

I use the violet from a patch of violas to create a ribbon around my waist. I use buttercup yellow to form a lace hem on the bottom of my dress, just like the one on my favorite skirt back home. I use the green to make bracelets that mirror the same chain of my necklace. I add tiny charms, made of different symbols from nature, a nod to this land—an acorn, a leaf, even a spider.

I use apple-red to create a row of pearled buttons down my back.

And as my hands rise and dip, as I form shapes from my memories, using every color at my fingertips, the forest seems to fade away. The night chill lessens. The eyes upon me vanish.

It’s just me and these smears of color, and my racing imagination, and my mother’s influence, my fingers rushing to keep up. Now that the lid of my creativity has been opened, ideas are spilling out in a wondrous wave. I twirl around, painting my dress into existence, adding to the base the spiders made, until it’s a tapestry of my mother’s creativity intertwined with mine.

I… created it.

Something rises within me. It’s… pride.

I’m proud of myself.

I was so consumed by my focus, by my excitement, painting as I advanced along the path, that I don’t even notice that I’m nearly to the gates—

And I don’t yet have a creature.

Two guards in crisp midnight-blue suits turn to face me. One crosses his arms over his star-shaped buttons. His face is grim. I can tell without even asking that he’s not going to let me through. He opens his mouth to turn me away.

Before he can say a word, however, a hoof steps onto the path, right between me and the guard.

It belongs to…

A pegasus.

My breath catches. I remember what Posey said, about their existence. She was right. They are real.

The pegasus is twice as large as a normal horse and has a sparkling gold coat. Gleaming wings arc outward from its long back. It bows its head at me.

It… chose me.

I bow back, tentatively, not sure if I’m doing any of this right.