She went from walking across plains of barren ash, to fields of roses in a week.
They sprung up, all around her feet, all at once, with no warning.
At first, it was a small patch.
But it followed her as she walked.
With each step she took, they sprung up.
Every place her foot kissed the earth, another row would grow, spreading like a brilliant fire across the barren land.
They made her feel like running.
Like filling her lungs with clean air and escaping the dusty cloud she lived in.
And so she ran.
The flowers followed her, ever as loyal as they were stunning.
The blood in her veins was racing.
Her heart was beating.
Before she knew it, all she could see was color and she forgot what blandness felt like.
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