Fiction Fantastic 2025 Winning Story: “Wishing for Purple” by Juniper Vold

The story below is a winner from our Fiction Fantastic Young Writers Contest, open to all youth in Lane County. For more information on this contest, including how to enter, visit here. Support this program with a donation.

You can purchase this story in the 2025 Winners Anthology, Echoes of the Future.

“Wishing for Purple” by Juniper Vold, Cascade Middle School

Second Place, Middle School Level, 2025

Wishing for Purple

by Juniper Vold

Cascade Middle School

Moonlight shines through the window meant only for the sun. My roommates have all put themselves to bed, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about tomorrow. You see, tomorrow is my thirteenth birthday, and the most important Assessment of any person’s life. Tomorrow, a priest will observe me for a full twelve hours, and report to the Council what he sees. And then the Council will evaluate what he’s learned, and deduce what my future is meant to be.

I know that whatever I’m meant for, the Council will figure it out, but I can’t stop myself from knowing it must be something special. Oh, for Audustio’s sake, I know what’s expected of me, and it isn’t as vague as “special.”

I know it’s wrong, but I make myself think it: I must be a Divine Bride. The most respected, exalted purpose a girl could be meant for.

If I can succeed in being chosen, the embarrassment of my older brother will be gone. My shameful older brother, who was found to have no duty to the world, and thus was removed. But if I can do this, my family will be known and respected. That is my true purpose; my parents have made it clear my real duty is to them. Without this honorable assignment, I will be a failure, and no failure will be accepted as my parents’ daughter. I only have to prove to the Council that Nativitas, the god of birth, created me to be a Bride. The only way to do that is to act like the perfect one.

I can do this, I remind myself. I have prepared for it my whole life.

Three years later . . .

Today is my wedding day. After thirteen years of tutors and academy, two years of specialized training, and a final year of Divine Courtship, the day has finally come. Today I will become a Divine Bride . . . to Audustio Himself.

I was rather surprised when I learned the news for, even after all of my preparation, I was not ready for Courtship.

It began with waiting to be claimed by a god. It was the most terrifying of observations because, for the first time, there were no mortals in between me and the gods. No one observed me and reported to them. Instead, the gods’ eyes were directly on me.

I spent three days fasting in the shrine, surrounded by all the gods’ idols. I prayed to each one, but with no reply.

But then, on the third morning, I had a vision. I was lying in the light of Audustio’s Holy Window, then hundreds of Holy Windows flashed open upon the walls, all shining their light at me. Then the windows turned to golden eyes, all staring at me, and I felt small and vulnerable as a baby mouse.

Then a voice spoke, and it said, “You are chosen, and you are now Lucerna, no longer–” here He spoke a name I can no longer remember. “Audustio’s first bride of the Millia Era.”

Suddenly, my breath rushed into my lungs as if it hadn’t in some time, and I realized my eyes were closed.

I opened them. The room was like it always was, smooth walls and solid edges. I realized I’d had a vision. I had been chosen. My name is Lucerna now. That evening, the priests came to check on me. I told them of my vision, and my name. I asked what my old name was, but they told me the old name wasn’t mine anymore—it is and was Audustio’s.

The rest of that year, I spent with a statue of my fiancé. I spoke to Him, took meals with Him, placed in the light of His Holy Window and prayed to Him. I cleaned and dressed the statue. I carried Him through the gardens and read to Him. Such is Courtship.

At night, the only time I was without the statue, sometimes I would have dreams, in which He came into my room, and looked at me with His windows as eyes. Then He would unravel, like yarn, into flowing rays of light and fire. These rays surrounded me and whirled around me, trapping me in a bubble of fire. The rays would then draw closer and closer, and brighter and brighter, until they nearly touched my skin, and then I would wake.

These dreams gave me an awful feeling, as if the light was hungry, and wouldn’t rest until it devoured me in flame. I would always forget the dream soon after waking, until I had it again.

But now, on my wedding day, I remember them all clearly.

As I recall my years of specialized Bride training, my maids come in, a whole flock of them. They whisk me away from my room and into a grand chamber. It is lined with mirrors and bright lanterns and racks of oils and powders. It is full to the brim of vanity in physical form. Now that I am about to be married to the highest being there is, I am allowed this grandeur. A Divine Bride has no reason to be humble.

I stand awkwardly on a stool, surrounded by mirrors and maids. The maids flurry about me like snowflakes in a storm, some lacing my undergarments or preparing my gown, some doing my hair and face, some polishing my nails.

My hair is a work of art; small braids lead up to a coiled bun atop my head, decorated with starbursts and golden pearls. Loose hair hangs out, pouring from beneath my bun and framing my face. A piece of gold speckled lace forms my veil. Then, without warning, my gown slides over my head. It, too, is bright gold, with bell shaped skirts and a long train covered in yellow flames.

The sight of myself makes my breath catch in my throat. I look like a Divine Bride. The thought makes my gut squeeze. It’s probably just nerves. After all, this is the biggest moment of my life. I ignore the way the waist of the gown cuts into my ribs and step off the stool into the highest pair of heels I’ve ever seen. They’re simple, though, probably because they won’t be seen under my skirts. At last, I am ready for my Divine Wedding.

The door to the cathedral looms over me. I stare up at the carvings of suns and stars shining down on grand academies, and radiant churches. Carved gods smile down on carved people while, beneath the carved streets, old, gnarled women wearing masks of beautiful girls tear into sinners with long claws. Demons. I tear my gaze away from their fake, glossy smiles and focus on the carving at the very top—my soon to be husband.

Taking a deep breath, I reach towards the doors but, before my hand touches the wood, the ushers swing it open and I have to squint against a sudden light. I blink, and when I see what’s before me, a thousand feelings burst up from where I’ve locked them away in my gut, settling like ash in my lungs.

The only way to describe the cathedral is gold. The walls, the banners, the guests, the flowers and the candles and the carpet, they’re all the same blinding gold as my gown. After all, this is Audustio’s wedding. I was a fool to think I would be anything more than another trinket to paint gold.

The statue is by the altar, wearing a suit that matches everything else. The ash turns to fire inside me. I do not want to marry that. I also, I realize, do not want to marry the god it represents.

It seems a morning of luxury has been enough to make me forget my place already, because all of a sudden, I want to choose the color for my own wedding. I want to simply have my own, because this wedding is clearly no one’s but Audustio’s. I want to sleep without dreams of hungry flames. I want to swim in the sunshine and twirl around the room and laugh loudly and climb a tree. I want to wear trousers and a shirt, in a color that’s my own. I want to look a person in the eye and say no. And have them unable to do anything about it.

I want to turn and run out of this ridiculous cathedral. I almost do. Then I see my parents in the crowd. I swallow my rage and pain and walk down the aisle. The flames sputter out, and there’s ash in my lungs again.

I manage to stand still and smile at the statue for almost the entire wedding. There is just one thing left before the end of the ceremony, and the end of my life among mortals.

In the Old Days, people would exchange rings about this time. When the gods reformed the world however, they decided a god’s bride should have a more permanent way to display their devotion: the god’s symbol, burned into one hand.

The priest takes my right hand and speaks a prayer, holding his own hand out. Audustio’s symbol, the sun rising over flames, glows on his palm. He presses it against the back of my hand.

There is silence. There should be pain, the smell of Audustio’s brand burning into me, something! Instead, I feel nothing except the priest’s clammy palm.

The priest, unsure, cautiously lifts his hand. My skin is unmarked. I smile before I can stop myself, but no one notices.

The priest whispers with his assistant, “How can this happen? Why is her hand not marked?”

The crowd calls out similar phrases, along with theories. I’m unholy, the priest is unholy, Audustio changed His mind, this is all an act to test something. They grow louder, and my grin probably isn’t helping.

Again, the priest tries, but I still feel nothing. The Head Councilor stands from his seat and hurries to the altar.

“The only way this is possible,” he rasps, “is if she’s already been marked, by a different entity.”

Everyone near the altar gasps. The Head Councilor turns to me.

“Tell me, Bride, have you been marked? Whose is it?”

I’ve managed to stop smiling by now, at least.

“I don’t know.” My voice catches in my throat.

His frown deepens.

“Hm, how unfortunate. And rather unbelievable, I’m afraid. We will find the answers I want.” He leans in and whispers, “I always get what I want, girl.”

His voice makes me feel as if worms are squirming inside me.

He grips my wrist, and drags me away from the altar toward one of the windows—a normal one, not holy. Then, holding my hand up to the light, he pulls out a small circle of wire-rimmed glass and holds it up to the light. A focused ray falls onto the back of my hand and, there, an inky black symbol glimmers in the light.

I barely register it’s there before the glass is tucked away in the Head Councilor’s jacket and his voice rises above the crowd, crying, “It’s a demon mark! She is cursed! She is damned! Kill her!”

He stumbles away, horror on his face. But when everyone is focused on me, he smirks. I force my face to be blank. Terror may grip me, but fear can be invisible, if one tries hard enough.

The priest. His ceremonial blade. Crimson flowing down my dress, the burning feeling where it pours from my bodice. Then the floor, meeting my cheek. And darkness. These are the flashes of imagery and feeling that make their way to my brain as I crumple on the floor, slain.

I open my eyes to find myself staring into the night sky. The moon is full, there are more stars than I’ve ever seen–almost more stars than darkness. I’m lying in a shallow pond, surrounded by lotus flowers and swaying underwater grasses. I sit up, my lower half sinking to meet the bottom of the pool, and I realize I’m sharing the pond with silvery white koi fish.

I stand and walk to the shore, taking in my surroundings. The pond is surrounded by a breathtaking garden. There are flowers, all just as bright white as the koi: milky roses, pearly tulips, irises pale as paper, and more.

Everything in the garden is brilliant white or deep, soothing black. The ground, the grasses, and the leaves are all as dark as the fruit and flowers are bright. The ground is soft dirt, slowly melting into vegetation that gets taller the farther it gets from the pond. Where the clearing ends, a forest of fruit trees begins, each covered in snow white fruit. It’s done in a way that makes it look sloped, rather than tiered. It feels natural, despite being so beautiful it must have been carefully planted.

I stand with my back to the pond, looking out at the other side of the clearing. A path of the same dirt that’s under my feet leads away from the clearing, and two benches sit on either side. It feels safe, and hidden. I then look down at myself.

My death comes back to me in a sudden flash. The garden was so transfixing that I forgot it. The wound is gone, or at least the blood and the pain is. More importantly, I can’t believe what I am wearing. My wish has been fulfilled. Loose black trousers cover my legs, and a tank top covers my torso. It looks like a shade of blue, but I’ve never seen a color quite like this shirt before. A soft voice startles me from my shock.

“Do you like it?”

I look up and see a woman standing in the entrance to the clearing. She wears a simple, flowing dress the same color as my shirt, so long it brushes her bare toes. Her hair, thick and flowing down to about the back of her knees, matches the moon, and her skin, the night sky. Even the stars are represented in her glowing freckles. Her eyes, though, are nothing but her own—a silver I can’t compare to anything but those two eyes. The way she looks at me, however, is familiar; it reminds me of the way the moon shone through the Holy window in my room on the night before my thirteenth birthday. Then she blinks and I remember she said something.

“Your shirt, I mean. Do you like it? I created the color for you.”

By Audustio’s Glory, she’s the tallest woman I’ve ever met! Though I suppose I technically haven’t met her yet. For some reason, I really want to.

“I call it purple. After you.”

I realize I’ve been staring, and whip my gaze to my feet so fast my neck cracks. As a flush creeps up my cheeks, the mysterious girl’s words sink it. Purple. After you. I look up again, inhaling sharply.

I remember my name. Purpura Aquilae.

I tilt my head back and laugh to the sky. I have my name back, and Audustio has no power over me now. I don’t know where I am, but I know I am far away from the gilded cathedral. Here, it is night, and the sun cannot see me. I look at the stranger, grinning widely.

“Did you bring me here?” I ask.

She nods, and says, “My name is Celestia. I am the goddess of the night sky, and wishes, for in the Old Days people wished on stars.”

I grin even wider.

“All my wishes have come true,” I say.

Before the gods reformed the world, goddesses reigned alongside them. But then the gods rose up, and cast the goddesses into caverns beneath the earth, giving them a new name, to show that a woman could never be a god. So they were called demons. And now my most shameful wish has been granted by the goddess of wishes Herself, who, technically, is a demon.

Celestia smiles, relaxing a bit.

“I’m so glad you’re not mad!” she sighs, relieved.

I cross the clearing and sit on one of the benches.

“Why would I be mad?” I ask.

She sits next to me and tilts her head back to study the stars. Butterflies flutter to life in my stomach, crawling out of their cocoons to explore my gut.

“That’s my mark on your hand, you know.”

I nod.

Celestia swallows, still looking at the sky.

“They killed you for it. Do you really not care?”

There’s silence. I look up, too, toward the stars.

“They would have killed me without it, too, sacrificed to Audustio. That’s what happens to Brides.”

Celestia takes a shaky breath.

“I . . . I don’t know why I didn’t know that.”

I shrug.

“I’m just glad I’m here instead of in the sky with Audustio. Honestly, I would rather be here than in the mortal world with a normal life, too.”

“I’m glad,” she replies.

After another moment, I say, “Did you really make this color?”

She smiles and nods shyly. It’s truly beautiful, and completely mine.

“Thank you,” I say. “I do like it. Thank you for everything else, too.”

Celestia beams, brighter than any sun. Then she stands and offers her hand.

“Come, these caverns are filled with magic. Do you have any more wishes?” She smiles warmly.

I take her hand. My pale palm fits perfectly with her starry one. I watch as her velvety lips curve up farther.

The butterflies in my gut have spread into my bloodstream, fluttering in my wrist. There are butterflies in Celestia’s blood, too. I can feel them where my fingers brush her veins.

Then I lift my gaze to Celestia’s sterling eyes. And I breathe, letting the night air fill me with relief.

“Why wish when we have the freedom to do whatever we want?”