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“I drink deep the promise like a jagged vial of poison, toasting your echo. Swallow all the shadows, then discover the door, always waiting on the edge of the void. I find hints of myself only inside oblivion; dancing the dark spaces in-between, same as always. But this time conscious thought holds up a mirror. I replace the blood-stained shard fallen from the top right corner, and stare into my own eyes, so very awake.
The dream is finally over.”
(lilimist/{una voce} lorelei)

A romantic creation myth about a butterfly who wakes up from her cocoon too late and a star who falls to earth to save her.

{ first written & released by Vixen Phillips in 2004 }

So, with a slightly heavier sigh, the butterfly first gave the rosebush his thanks, regardless of her vanity, and then made his way over to the embankment, from which a chill mist arose to pinprick his wings.

But the stream was well prepared for him. “Soon I will be frozen solid,” he said with an icy sigh. “Better you find a bird to look after her — I know for a fact they have no need of sleep. It’s a wonder that anyone else could get a wink either, given all the racket they make around here.”

Feeling very cold by now, but warmed in heart by this suggestion, the butterfly then went in search of one of the birds with rainbowed wings, whose beautiful songs he had danced to with his brethren in the carefree light of spring.

He found a whole flock of them gathered among another snoring tree, though rather than singing they now were screeching shrilly.

“It’s election time,” one of them informed him, as he alighted upon a nearby twig. “Do we fly east or west? that’s the big question, and as for that fellow —” here he motioned a wing towards the largest of the birds, who sat in smug silence a few branches ahead, overlooking his peers — “he says we should fly south, south of all things! Well, I never! Who will you vote for, do you think?”

“Oh, I am not here to vote,” said the butterfly, causing several of the birds at hand to turn around and stare at him incredulously. “Actually, I have a favour to ask,” and he began telling them the tale of his youngest sibling.

But the moment they realized just what he wanted, instant silence was commanded with the wave of a single wing. From his perch, the largest — and apparently most controversial — bird had flown down to nip in the bud such a distraction to their own proceedings.

“Go away,” he snapped sourly. “We can not help you. It’s of no importance whatsoever to us. We are party to more consequential matters. And you are interrupting.”

Surprised, and perhaps a little confused by the bird’s pompous speech, the butterfly could only think to say, “I am very sorry. The stream told me you were not going to sleep.”

Laughter followed this statement, and the largest bird indignantly flapped his wings. “Sleep? Of course we are not going to sleep! We are going to fly somewhere warmer, and, if I have anything to do with it, we will be flying south.” At his side, several of the birds tittered among themselves, before another raised wing from him re-imposed their silence.

“But that would be perfect!” exclaimed the butterfly, immediately feeling his spirits lift at the thought of his sister in a nice warm climate. “You could take her with you! She is not at all heavy, no more than I am.”

More laughter. “Take her with us?” asked one.

“You mean, in our bellies?” asked another, and a nasty gleam crept into their eyes.

“I — I don’t understand,” stammered the butterfly, edging backwards an inch along the twig, unfamiliar sensations of fear and discomfort creeping in.

Again the largest bird stepped forward. “You see,” he began to explain condescendingly, “I will tell you how it is. For too long now have you spoiled the beauty of our songs with all your frivolous dancing. We are tired of it — except for the nightingale, of course, but then, everybody knows she’s really a crazy old witch!” Amid more tittering, and raising himself up to his full height, he concluded now, “Quite frankly, we have no respect for you. Natural, really, given that we awoke first, while you kept sleeping. We think you deserve all you get for your laziness, and in fact, quite recently, we have been wondering if any of you were at all good to eat.”

The Butterfly Vow by lilimist   Page 4 of 16   writing

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