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“I think souls have a color.”
Michel moved his muzzle slightly to get a better look at Forsynthia. The waif of a woman was wrapped completely in his fuzzy arms- lost, even. Michel had honestly thought she had gone to sleep minutes ago. Maybe she was talking in her sleep now?
“How do you figure?” Michel decided to entertain anyway.
Forsynthia gave a movement that indicated a small shrug.
“I can feel it sometimes.” She moved her head to look up at him. Her crystal blue eyes stared at him in earnest. “Yours changes.”
That gave Michel a start. Forsynthia arranged herself so she could rest her chin in her hands, her elbows digging into Michel’s fur. Michel squirmed a little. She was studying him now. Her gaze while concentrating was both distracting and nerve-wracking.
“When you’re really passionate about something, your soul is red.” the woman told him. “It shines when you're comfortable. ‘In the zone’, I think the phrase is. When you’re trying your best. When you’re going out of your way to do something nice for me.”
Michel sheepishly shrank a bit. If his blushing could be shown, it would have been.
“But sometimes,” Forsynthia went on with a frown, “It’s green.”
“Is… that bad?”
Michel found some relief when Forsynthia shook her head.
“When you move out of your comfort zone, because of something you learned before you came here, that’s when your soul is green. It’s… healing, I think. Your mother gives you anxiety. Just thinking about her can put her in a sour mood. But when you try to break her rules? When you’re trying to find your own place without submitting to the prejudice you grew up in. It’s a soft light.”
“Healing.”
“Yeah.”
Forsynthia relaxed into Michel’s fur again. She let out a soft sigh like a puppy getting comfortable on its favorite person.
“Your soul must be yellow.” Michel told her. He lovingly ran a clawed hand through her hair. “You’re very bright. Smart. I love that, you know.”
Hidden in his fur, Forsynthia grinned.