Wait, is orange Uncle's (my? our?) secret fears or is that just the colour knowing the fears turns you?
I think I must answer this with a story:
Long ago, the Witch of the Mountain sat brooding over a flickering hearth, wondering at the pace of days while the wind moaned wordless through the naked trees. When a knock sounded at the door she rose, pulled furs close against her and answered the door.
A red-haired woman stood outside. “It’s very cold,” she sighed, “and I saw a light in the window.”
The Witch motioned her inside and closed the door, noticing a large shapeless bag the woman carried.
“What’s in the bag?” she asked.
“Dragon bones and dragon webbing,” answering the Red Woman.
“Why do you carry dragon pieces in a bag? Food I would understand, or a change of clothes.”
The woman lowered her head. “I was a fox once, long ago. There came a day when the sun clung to the low branches and I was cursed.”
The Witch nodded. “I know about curses. Cast a few, had a few cast at me. That’s how it goes. What’s yours?”
“Some plucky hero came along—“
“Oh, one of those,” muttrered the Witch.
“Yeah, anyway he’d killed a dragon and found out their bones and webbing always take the shape of nightmares unless you find some hapless soul to take their burden.”
“You agreed. Idiot.”
“What can I say? I was young. And furry. But it turns out if you give dragon parts to a shapeshifting fox, they turn into your least favorite colors.”
“That seems awfully specific,” said the Witch.
“Or if your some kind of blundering hero, that works too. Dragon bones are weird.”