I'm not sure where this came from... I was waiting for some downloads to get through Napster, and I was trying to fix up chapter 3 of Final Wish... and then "Kyrie" from Parasite Eve came on and I thought about butterflies. o_O;; Oh, well... This is about Dealan-Dè (featured in Spark n_n) and some butterflies... Dun tie in with her little RP story line, but maybe I can write stuff about her that deviates from that, too... o_o;;;; I need to do reflective pieces, anyhow, even if they kinda dun have much point to 'em.
There shouldn't be any spoilers in this one, unless ye dunnae what a Black Waltz is. o.o;; Oh, and for the curious: the title, "Valse de L'innocence" translates to "Waltz of Innocence" (as if it isn't sorta obvious) ... at least that's what the Babel Fish told me. I dunnae French. n_n
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... butterflies. Tiny yellow insects swarm around a large flower, landing and leaving the wide pastel pink petals in a chaotic ballet of wing and limb. One bounces into another, knocking it slightly off the course that changes every second, and yet they do not quarrel; they accept what has changed and go on, fluttering to and fro without care. They do not lash out and screech curses and threats; they twitch their antennae, toss their bodies, and seek another space to occupy before they are bumped into again.
A tall figure was crouched a few meters away from the flower. Her eyes, reddened with a lack of sleep, were slits of subdued flame watching the small creatures swirl. Her appearance would automatically denote her as an adult were she to pass under the glance of another being, but by the very manner she stared in awe... She watched the butterflies as a haggard dragon would watch a herd of unicorns in valley shadowed by its lair's peak, both curious butt hungry for knowledge as to why they're there. Her focus swam from one spot of tawny wing to the next, yet she was perfectly attentive and curious of the butterflies. She had not seen such marvel since... forever. Since she escaped her iron-clad prison, since she had found her way to the forests around Dali... since she was born.
There was a smile tugging at her lips, and the voices that would pester her were silent, as if they themselves were enraptured by such a spectacle. Quietly, she rose and stepped closer to the mess of wings surrounding the flower. They either were not aware of her or were too focused on the flower to care. She stopped and crouched down again when she was within an arms length of the flower and the twitchy stars of butterfly wings were bouncing off of her just as much as off of one another.
They were indifferent. Dealan-Dè wondered...
Her hand shot upwards and clasped into a loose fist right in the midst of the insectoid dance. Immediately, the patrons scattered; for a moment, she thought they had each individually exploded into specks of yellow confetti. The butterflies hastily abandoned their places around the flowers to seek refuge from the intruder in the branches of a tree hanging above their former gathering place, landing lightly and giving their wings a twitch in irritation. Who dared interrupt them?
Dealan-Dè looked after the butterflies layering the branches in yellow brilliance for a moment before looking back to her clasped hand. She could barely feel the brushes of dust-coated wings against her palm. Hesitantly, she parted the gap between her thumb and forefinger and peeked inside the prison her hand had become.
A tiny face with wide green-tinted eyes and long emerald-bobbed antennae peered back at her. Startled, she pulled her hand away from herself and clasped her hand shut once more, not noticing that her movement pressed the frail butterfly tighter against her skin. She was frozen for a few moments, blinking, before she could bring herself to look at the creature she held once more. Carefully, she pulled her fingers away from her palm and held her hand up flat before her face to look at the butterfly in deeper detail.
Its twitched and jabbed it's limbs weakly at her skin and fluttered one of its wings. The other was apparently stuck to her hand. It's abdomen wasn't in prime condition any longer, as well; the very end of it's tubular body had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, for it was squashed nearly flat and there was dull orange ooze that glued its rear end to the dark skin.
As she stared and studied, she noticed... it stopped moving. The flailing of its legs gradually slowed then stopped altogether, as well as with the trembling of its wings. Dealan-Dè tilted her head and tenderly poked the unmoving creature with an obsidian claw and waited for a reaction. When it didn't come, she pursed her lips and blew a gentle breath across its body. Doing such failed to do anything more than make its antennae waver.
... What's wrong?
She glanced to the tree and saw all the other butterflies still waiting, watching and flapping their wings. They were supposed to do that, weren't they? Then she glanced to the one in her hand, the one with stiff joints and wings with the color fading from them and with parts of its intestines smeared on her skin.
A pressure returned in her mind and whispered, We should be moving on.
Dealan-Dè sighed; she would have to wait another day to watch the butterflies and figure out this new puzzle. Carefully, she plucked the corpse from off her hand and laid it down in the grass beneath the pink flower's petals. Maybe it was sleepy... Some rest might do the poor creature some good. A grin returned to her lips, pleased with the deduction she made for herself, and turned to continue the journey through the woods which had been stalled by the discovery of the masquerade.
In pairs and pairs of pairs, the yellow dancers returned to the stage and resumed their inextricable ball.