Ted (merovingian) wrote,

The Dance

There were butterflies everywhere. Owlish grey-brown on one side and a pale opalescent blue on the other. Black with wild red crescents. Rice-paper thin, in dove white and charcoal patterns. Golden. Striped. Moon purple. Tiny false-eyes, gilled real-eyes, feelers and probosci. Chasing and dancing around each other. Landing in puddles and on fruit. Delving into flowers and flying, lazy and irregular, like a stumbly bumbling drunk. Landing on people blessed enough to seem like plants to them.

I was instantly enchanted. After ten minutes, I couldn't get enough. After an hour, I turned to my friends.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I asked. All nods.

The metamorphosis was quick and dramatic.
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