Grass tickled her feet, the damp pasture of morning cool, a welcoming chill against her skin. Sun peaked up over the horizon, up over the trees, throwing long beams of golden light through the canopies, through the low twisting mist and out over the meadow. She breathed in the fresh, delicate air. The smooth warmth of the new day sent tingles down her arms, and she ran a hand over them, over the sparse brown freckles that dotted her pale skin. As she wandered further into the meadow, her dark-green dress billowed out behind her, hugging tightly to her generous stomach, caressing the ample curves of her hips. She inhaled and closed her eyes. Birds chirped. The wind whistled sweetly, running its light fingers through the trees emerald leaves. Heat grew in her chest like a new flame, steady and with purpose before it became desperate, almost painful, ready to erupt. Then she opened her eyes and spread out her arms, her fingers, letting the pressure out and enabling the plants to grow. The sparse space was sparse no more. Grass began to bulge, rolling up into great heights before it split and wildflowers swelled, pushing out to touch the sun in a rainbow of colours. Daisies bloomed. Lilies flourished. And roses grew tall, twisting together into enchanted arches—doorways to worlds unknown. She touched a finger to her lips and smiled; what a wonder she could create.