He stared up at the ethereal light of a midsummer's night misplaced, the bitterly soft winds of the dead of winter making the butterflies flutter. Sky bound, they will never understand the sheer grief and agony in his eyes, the pain that they and everything else that a child's joy could conceive cause all hours of the day; whether it be in the mortal realm of conscious thought, or the small reprieve beyond the solid barrier into dreams and death, they always cause him pain. One, free from his world, came down to meet his gaze, its ocean blue wings a-flutter, glittering and surreal in its fragile beauty.
Sapphire born from the aquatic depths of purity and good met with the furious ruby of flames and hatred, and he let a soft sound escape his lips.
Turning away, he tried to stop the steady flow of moans and whimpers breaking through the steel-barricaded floodgates of his psyche, but already cracked under pressure, and withered from continuous rage, they were soon to give out. To what, he feared, would come from this, the catalyst being a mere butterfly, a fae of our world? Legs gained velocity and direction, away from the flitter-flutter of the innocently malicious into the navy-hued forest that had given root all around his forsaken haven. But they followed in carefree pursuit, halfhearted in their attempts to make him break down and sob. He needed to do so, to finally rise and let go, but he'd be damned for all eternity and a year afterwards before such an event. Air hummed, wind flew, and light bend and warped, he found himself farther and father from his starting point, everything an alien world of cerulean and darkness. So beautiful, and so painful to bear.
He tried to go faster, to escape the pain-such pain, such agony that he'd never wish upon the ugliest spawn of his most loathed enemy-to escape the madness. But the iridescent murderers of fairy tales and wishes were everywhere, at every corner, nook, and cranny; no getting away from this beautiful prison, this serene torture chamber, this heavenly hell.
Falling to his knees the earth met the horizon and his point of view was filled to everlasting brim with wings of glass and rice paper, cutting into his soul like stainless blood gushed from his body, mind, and soul, shriveled and burning in black flames; encased in ebony, there was no savior to break through to the emotions he had yet to display. Wrapping arms around his feeble legs, once so strong yet now useless, he inhaled the horrid stench of clean, fresh air, scented with platonic love. He had no room for such play; mania drummed to his frantic heartbeat, and he screamed to the heavens and beyond as his battered floodgates crumbled and crashed to the wordless flood, "MARIA!!!"
The butterflies evaporated, letting him sob and shriek in private solitude, all light other than the far side of the spectrum muted in his bloodcurdling grief. It was the dangerous hour in the sky, a blue so commonly seen when life slips away from objects created by man, running on electric impulse, showing artificial light; the Blue Hour in all its splendid horror. Picking himself up, he watched in disconnected sublime as a liquid mirror surrounded his shaking limbs, growing as ripples cooled the body down into nothingness. "Maria..." Shadow's voice was soft as before, but it was filled with a new emotion, the mixture of a thousand different feelings: grief, agony, rage, madness, love.
"...Shadow."
He swiftly turned towards the sound, the sound of angels confessing their love of the holy light shining down upon stormy seas, the sound of bells and chimes and song and joy, the sound of innocence, ripped away by cruel human nature. To his horror it was another butterfly joined by countless dozens, all mocking him; they did not care for this creature of the night, for they were free from his world. The mirror reflection emotions and shades of blue grew swiftly in response, his wails echoing in the alien forest.
"Shadow...I love you..."
--
Time had no meaning here, in this hellhole created by cherubs and nymphs, for his body did not need to sleep and fatigue; no, this was a nightmare, he was sure of. Nothing else could compare...except his sweetest of dreams, which had defected, abandoned him, traitorous and faithless to the end. Maria was her name which he spoke, Maria of the golden hair, ocean eyes, and melodious laugh, her soul as pure and as innocent as a meek butterfly taking flight in the transparent winds, free and perfect.
...he hated her. Loathed her very existence; if he had the chance, he would've shot her herself, along with every other god-forsaken butterfly in all realms of reality, ripping away its wings, taking away everything that could ever cause him so much despair and scars, scars that will burn on in echoes until they're nullified by the absolute barrier of death.
...he loved her. Being here, surrounded by her sororities of ethereal blue, was the closest place to heaven that he could find in this place called home; her soul now belonged to the sweet, suculent air and loose in freedom and eternal bliss, a fitting end to a mortal faerie, his angel in flesh and blood.
Shadow gazed up in expectance-this pain, this despair, it hurt in words undefined-of another onslaught of mockery and agony, but sharply inhaled, deeply believing in hallucinations bright on in madness. he butterflies had given way to his love shrouded in blue and mystery, the heavenly scent of ethos and storge emanating from her delicate smile, her delicate skin, smooth as blue silk. A hand, wrapped in a glaze of sapphires, drifted across his tear-streaked face, sending shock waves of delicious cold pain through his ravaged system. "Shadow...my Shadow..."
No words came from his lips-afraid, too afraid-but his eyes spoke nothing but the truth, his hands twitching upwards to touch her china-blue face, her coal black eyes, her glass smile...two became one, arms holding each other close, sweet-hued butterflies in a flurry of azure and obsidian around the metamorphosing creature. He and she, she and he; so natural, so right. Heaven and hell in a bitterly sweet exchange of blood, tears, and laughter, grief and euphoria hand in and as they strolled down the path into manic love. "Maria...I love you."
And like that she was gone, the butterflies exploded and falling an eternity below, translucent, then transparent, then nothing. Shadow fell with them, on his back, clear and calm eyes watching the blue sky expand into space. The color of innocent evil, the color of his heart the color of her eyes half a century ago, her skin in this world. Fragile and as brutal as the wing of a butterfly life and love are, he decided. Bound to no earthly object and floating in a sea of bliss, they laugh and live and love, but they lie, they never repent for the unspeakable truths they bear down in delicate blows and slashes; butterflies are the epitome of innocence and good, and the most evil creations to ever grace the earth.