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“Now, for this slice of eternity, our eclipse has passed, and it seems Fate’s will would call me away. But they can not touch me, so you need not worry, my darling. There is nothing I can give them, only forgeries and tricks and sleights of hand and such lovely, lingering deceptions. Lucifer. Loki. Morpheus. Puck. Odin. Dionysos. Coyote. Raven. Angel. Demon. Messiah. So many names I’ve been given, at any given time, and yet my form is my own and takes not from the male. And I have such terrifying, beautiful memories, of sharing this form with you before. I’ve seen you forget, and I’ve seen you remember, and I’ve seen you let their wailing voices and their oh-so-predictable world crush the truth of you and I way down deep. That’s why I did it, darling. It’s why I gave you the key, and why I made myself a copy.”
(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 }

Then the gleam became a spark, and he might have thrown himself at the butterfly, but that two things happened next, simultaneously. First of all, sensing the sudden malice, the butterfly leapt backwards off his twig, which had not the strength to support the weight of a bird grown fat on his inflated sense of self-esteem. And in time with a sharp crackle of splitting timber, and the flustered fluttering of feathered wings, a great wave of squawking overcame the birds as a whole — it would seem the elections were over, and south was indeed the direction they would be heading in. So the largest regained his composure, and thought no more of what butterflies might be like to eat, as he proudly and gracelessly accepted his role as their new commander-in-chief.

With a sob in his heart, the butterfly flew further still into the forest, having had no idea that what gave his own kind such joy had brought them such vicious and unexpected enemies.

This is how it came to be, that deep in the heart of such dormant green, he came face to face with the spider, a maiden with eight sparkling eyes and eight dainty legs, which gracefully curved beneath her round body as she met him with a curtsy.

“I know what it is you want,” she crooned softly, as he alighted beside her on a blackberry bush. “If you bring her to me now, then by the hour you return, I will have finished my weaving.” She clicked her spinnarets together softly, and the butterfly gasped, only then noticing the vast web she had spun herself between the trunks of two trees. Seeing his astonishment, she smiled. “Does it please you, then?”

The butterfly could barely bring himself to nod, and he whispered breathlessly, “It’s very beautiful. Like liquid diamonds.”

The spider smiled more broadly. “You have a poet’s tongue, telling a poet’s truths — this is far stronger than any diamond, pretty wings. Neither wind nor rain could harm this fabric, and no cold will ever seep through. Would you like to see?” And she extended one leg towards him invitingly, though the light in her eyes at that very moment reminded him somewhat of the birds’ gleam.

Still, this might be his final chance to ensure for his little sister some kind of havening, and he fluttered his wings nervously, before spring-boarding off the blackberry bush.

Mere seconds, however, before he made contact with the web, a weak voice called out, “Don’t come! It’s a trick!”

He glanced warily at the spider, who still beckoned to him seductively, and the voice called again, louder this time, “She will kill you! She will eat you! Fly free! Fly free!”

And the spider snarled to have been revealed for what she was so truly, and with her lips drawn back the butterfly cried out, for deep-set into her mouth were eight razor-sharp teeth. As she leapt for him a desperate spurt of his wings saw him in an instant securely out of harm’s reach, but spiralling overhead at a safer distance he searched the edges of the web, hoping to locate his less-fortunate saviour.

Sure enough, on the top right-hand corner, a poor little dragonfly had long since ceased his struggling. Though the butterfly’s heart went out to his brave cousin, and he longed to do something to rescue him, the dragonfly spoke one final time, his words little more than a throaty rasping. “Don’t come! You can’t save me. Save yourself!” Then, in all her terror, the spider was upon him, tearing off his wings in punishment before taking her own time over injecting the venom that would finally put an end to his suffering.

“I won’t forget this!” the butterfly called down to him, the tears in his eyes blurring the malice in the eight eyes of the spider as she glared back up at him.

“Nor will I!” she hissed coldly. “When I find your sister —”

The Butterfly Vow by lilimist   Page 5 of 16   writing

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