Yay~ A new story. I haven't uploaded a new one in awhile. This here is a tribute fic dedicated to Wanda. And someone else. But the pairing in question will be a surprise, hurr-durr. I apologize for the short first chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own FOP. Butch Hartman does. If I did own it, I'd be happy.
Warning: Contains Yuri. Might possibly re-rate if I get too smuttastic. If you don't like girls with girls, I advise you don't read this.
Night of the Butterflies
Rin Fang
[01. Ninety-Meters From The Ground.]
He was falling.
Where he was falling, why he was falling, he couldn't tell…
He didn't care.
But he was falling; back arched and graceful, descending into cavernous depths. Above him, a crowd assembled at the ledge of the cliff, leering cowards, torches intermingling with the night stars. It was pretty up ahead… The constellations twinkled down.
Suffering, he lifted his head to look at the stars one last time, but a sharp whip of air lashed his head back, sending great waves of pain rollicking throughout his scrawny body.
Agony.
"What… happened…?" he attempted to choke, although it didn't matter. No one could hear him. He was alone… alone… alone… forced to bear it out in his final moments.
"What did I do wrong?"
Gravity was against him; it pulled his short and compact form down even quicker. He accelerated, accelerated. With one last fainthearted effort, he forced his fine gossamer wings, plastered to his back by the wind, to expand.
Rip.
Pain.
What happened…?
His wing was torn right away from his body. Green eyes expanding, he watched in muted horror as the silken appendage fluttered uselessly away into the chasms, leaving him behind… plummeting.
He could feel the presence of the ground near him.
Lower.
Lower.
Terminal velocity.
Pain erupted all throughout him. His back stung, his neck had to be broken… Now he felt icy cold water seep through his eyes, his nose, his ears, a hungry panther going in for the kill.
He might be able to swim out… no. It was no use.
Even if he did survive, he would never be able to find his family. A human boy child, a domineering yet kindhearted wife, a doddering toddler. How had it been that one moment, they were breaking in to the human boy's school, trying to retrieve the homework he had forgotten, and the next, were being pursued by a group of mad men with machine guns, nets, syringes. He, always the butt of many a wimp joke, assumed the responsibility to create a diversion, and in doing so, they chased him out to the bluffs by the ocean. He would have taken flight, but their female leader shot him at the last second, leaving a gaping wound in his stomach, and causing him to fall into the unforgiving tidewaters.
Now that he realized it, he hadn't really cared about the blood. He just wanted to see his family. He'd make it out from the ocean…
No!
He could see searchlights… they had helicopters?
He had a mission beyond his own selfish desires; he had to protect the identity of his species.
So what if he was the sacrificial lamb?
If they wouldn't be locked away to be experimented on, his spirit would be fine.
His species was hardy… it would take willpower to die.
Tears—or was it seawater—clung to his eyelids, and he opened his mouth, swallowing gulp after gulp of seawater. He couldn't taste it… but it was horrible. Water finally encased him completely; gravity woke up…
He was falling.
The chasms became darker, the night deepened.
And the stars became nothing but a dream…
