Violeta chases the red ball through the roses. Thud-thud-thud. It bounces toward the watering can.
SPLAT. Face-first into the dirt. The ball rolls away. Violeta wipes mud from her nose. "Not fun," she mutters, and turns back to her petals.
Petal on petal. Petal on petal. A tall, wobbly tower stands in the grass. Violeta tucks her fingers behind her head. Almost… perfect.
WHOOOOSH. The gust flings petals everywhere. Over the fence. Into the yard. Violeta plops down, chin in her hands, watching the last one drift to a high windowsill.
A pink cat hops off the windowsill. It trots through the roses, tail swiping left, swiping right. Loose petals gather under its fur.
The cat paws the petals into a shape. A glowing pink heart sits in the grass. Violeta's mouth falls open. The cat purrs, rumbling like a tiny engine.
Violeta threads the glowing petals into a crown. Clips it on. Wobbles. Re-clips. Holds still. The crown sits.
The garden hums. Pink light spills over every petal, every leaf, every stone. The cat pats her knee once. Purrs.
Violeta plops back into the dirt. Petals in her lap. The pink cat curls at her feet, eyes half-closed, tail slow.
A small voice from the fence: "Can I make one too?" Violeta slides two petals through the gap. The cat's pink tail-tip flicks against her chin.