In Flowercastle, tulips were painted on the tops of towers, and above the gate, colorful glass pieces glittered as if someone had tipped a huge sugar box onto the city. Every morning, Princess Juniper drew maps of the castle yard, capturing each detail: the distinct color of the rose garden, the fragrant stripe of the bakery, and even the sunset-grey ear of Tobias, her donkey. One forenoon, however, something strange happened: her chalks crumbled to grey between her fingers.

At first, she thought she had squeezed the blue chalk too hard. But when she looked through the window's colorful glass, expecting the castle guard's bell to gleam brightly, only dull, colorless glass stared back. The queen's favorite, deep blue dress suddenly faded to a watery pale, and the tapestries of the throne room hung as if someone had erased their patterns.

King Lawrence sat in council. The head painter chewed the end of his mustache, and the alchemist trickled boiled water onto his ear, hoping an idea would come from there. But the idea just didn't come. Then Prince Zalan, from Flowercastle's neighboring kingdom, stamped in. He carried a compass in his bag, its wind rose turning like a sunflower.

In the Library of Threads, where the scent of old scrolls on the shelves mixed with the smell of glue and freshly baked cake like a strange lunch, Juniper and Zalan stumbled upon a dusty codex. Tiny flowers bounced along the edges of the pages, and among the letters, it looked as if tiny ants walked. The text read: While the well hears a tale, the colors of the world turn. If silence ties its knot on it, the colors curdle.

They took Tobias, the faithful donkey, a basket of plums, and a wooden spoon, because, according to the princess, a wooden spoon always comes in handy on any road. They cut across the motley tents of the market, which now hung like washed-out flags after rain. The painter, Aunt Verka, stood before her workshop and, with a teary gaze, showed them her cooking tubs: the mauve had faded, and the indigo had become transparent.

They went on toward the Kaleidoscope Grove, where the leaves always changed shades in unison, like fish in water. Now, however, the foliage of the trees resembled a field shaded with a graphite pencil. A magpie—Zinc—joined them, chirping in a strange, questioning voice. Tobias wagged his long ear and decided to join the chirping too. Juniper couldn't whistle, but she tapped the wooden spoon on the side of the basket: tock-tock-tock.

Behind the forest, on the hill overgrown with quaking grass, lay the Color Well. Its sides were covered with tiny mosaics, each depicting a different shade of wave or a different kind of leaf. Now, however, the mosaics stared palely at the world. On the lid of the well lay the Knot of Silence: a knot braided from dark blue leather, whose ends seemed to stick to the air, as if it were a frozen cord.

On the rim of the well, someone curled up. At first, it seemed like a stone, then like moss, but finally it moved, and Juniper saw: it was a small dragon, whose scales were mostly grey, with here and there a dot of green, and only a hint of hidden yellow. His eyes, however, were vivid, curious, and a little shy.

I am Patch - he said softly. - The guard of the well. If no one comes to tell tales, the colors inside me become lazy too. Once I sneezed, and the silence tied this knot. The air became heavy, like a half-finished sweater.

We untie it - answered Zalan. - But how?

Hidden on the margin of the codex page, tiny letters read: The knot of silence can be solved with sound, but not just any kind. With one that carries story. With the sounds of the world.

They turned back to the market square and carried the news like a flexible rope; everyone clung to it. The baker came, a long shovel on his shoulder, bringing the thudding of baskets and the crunching of bread crust. The smith arrived with two hammers, in a tinkling rhythm. The fish woman trickled water from her bucket, meanwhile sloshing it like kneaded mud. The children put rattle seeds into paper bags, the geese quacked, and Zinc the magpie zigzagged above their heads like lightning made of feathers.

They gathered around the well, and Juniper lifted her hand. She didn't say a speech; she just started the tale. Tock-tock-tock - sounded the wooden spoon. The baker answered: puff-puff; the smith: ting-ding; the geese: quack-quack; the fish woman: splash; the children: swish-swosh. Zalan meanwhile mumbled softly, as if reading old maps: here a river bends, there a hill snorted one. Patch leaned forward, and something seemed to quiver in his scales.

The sounds wove together, forming a story: the tale of a city where the bread thunders, the iron glints, the water splashes, and the wind softly catches into the canvas. The Knot of Silence squeaked. It was like a stubborn shoelace finally giving itself up. The knot seemed to sigh, and with a soft boom, loosened a single breath.

Juniper took out the indigo-blue ribbon. She tied it to the end of the wooden spoon and swung it as if waking a small river. The ribbon's spinning swished, adding its own dark, deep, peaceful sound. Zalan then tapped his palm onto Tobias's side; the donkey brayed with gusto. The smith accelerated his rhythm in answer, and the baker drummed a roll with his shovel. The sounds of the city started again, but now they breathed as one.

The knot yielded a second time, then a third, and finally, with a fine crack, slid down from the well. The lid popped up, and from its depths, a strange light billowed forth—not blinding, but warm and fresh, like bread crust freshly browned to red. Juniper tied the indigo-blue ribbon to the handle of the bucket and lowered it. The bucket returned as if bathed in light: on the waves of the water, tiny flakes swam, each a memory of a color.

Patch carefully sipped from it. His scales woke up, one after the other: first a pea-green spot under his neck, then an ember-orange stripe in the middle of his back, and finally a cunning-purple dot on the tip of his tail. He laughed, but this laughter didn't flame; rather, it rolled rainbow-like.

As the small splashes from the bucket reached the mosaics, the sides of the well repainted themselves. From among the mosaics, the shadow of a cat stepped out and, with a gentle finger, stroked Juniper's knee. On the other side of the meadow, the grass regained its stinging-green smell. The Kaleidoscope Grove started to sing its colors anew: the leaves took on their own shade one by one, then danced together.

When they got back to the castle, the king's mustache wasn't exactly as before: tiny copper-red glints now moved within the grey, seeming to smile with every laugh. The queen's dress didn't wear the same shade either: it became deeper, like the bend of a river where the fish rest. And the city's rooftops gained tiny patterns, which only those noticed who lifted their gaze and let the colors speak for themselves.

That afternoon, King Lawrence proclaimed there would be a Color-walking Day every month. Whoever could, would come to the well, bringing a sound and a 'story shred' with them. The baker would bring the crunching, the smith the tinkling, the children the running, the geese the quacking. Patch remained at the well, no longer hiding sadly on the rim, but sunbathing on the lid like a bored lizard, blowing small smoke rings from time to time, in which, for moments, a purple dot flashed.

Juniper never learned to whistle, and she no longer minded. She realized that sounds didn't only live in the mouth. She could tell tales with her wooden spoon, a swishing ribbon, and a wobbling bucket. And Zalan set his wind-rose compass into the rim of the well. From then on, the wind, whenever it walked that way, lifted its hat with respect above the city.

If someone wanders that way in Flowercastle, they can discover a strange stripe under the big dining table too. That stripe is only visible to those who ever took a sound to the Color Well. Sometimes it's orange, other times strawberry red, sometimes elderberry purple. When Juniper and Zalan slide their palms there, a tiny dot of paint is always found that snuggles to their skin. That dot doesn't scratch, doesn't prick. It just winks, like Patch, and whispers: Do you tell tales? Then the colors come again.