Butterfly in the Smoke Sophie's Story
Just another ordinary day, mused Sophie as she stroked the hairs of her special paint brush against the flat surface of the thick white paper. The color was a milky, soft green, made from the chamomile that Sophie grew in her garden. She gazed out the open window in front of her, drinking in the loveliness of the fresh breeze and the blue sky. Blue was the most beautiful color Sophie's eyes had ever gazed upon.
It represented her being and was the essence of feelings and emotions and the solidness of harmony. It was Sophie's everything. If only the woad in her garden would grow all year round instead of in summer, and rainwater was necessary for a good harvest of the plant. It was the only source of blue Sophie could find.
Chrissa, her sister, interrupted her thoughts. "Sophie, there is a letter for you. It's from Camille." She held out a silk envelope. Sophie opened it and read the letter.
Dear Sophie,
I can never forget your love of blue. It's too strong and rich a passion. It is, no doubt, timelessly simple as you are.
Unfortunately, woad has been the only provider of the color for centuries, and no one can overcome enough to venture out and find blue. I hope this will help you on the journey you have never expected but the gods have foreseen:
"Divine, as thine blue,
Demeanor as the manor,
The flightless bird,
The remorseful rain,
The invisible wave,
The rose's thorn,
The butterfly that takes its last breath in the unwavering smoke,
Cannot bring the escapade
That you have yourself created."
Forever and for always, Camille
P.S. Sophie, there is a capsule enclosed. Keep it safe with you; never use it unless you must.
As Sophie read aloud the last word, a small pod-shaped container fell out of the envelope. With trembling fingers, she removed the lid and, staring at her, flapping its vibrant, gilded wings, was a butterfly.
