A/N: Felt like writing something short and sweet for Misty Day. Title comes from 'State of Dreaming' by Marina and the Diamonds.
"All your life you've never seen, woman, taken by the wind ..."
Misty's voice is as clear as the summer sky and as pure as winter snow. She's only seen snow once in her entire life - they don't get much of it on the bayou - but Lord, it was clean, so clean that it almost blinded her with its whiteness. It didn't stick for longer than a few hours, but she remembers it well enough.
She smiles at herself in the bathroom mirror, then lifts the pencil to her eye. It's black eyeliner she stole from the makeup department at Sears. Her mama would have a fit if she saw it, but Misty is home alone, playing sick to get out of church. She's supposed to be reading from her Bible and resting, but instead she's been wandering around the house, listening to Stevie on the small boom box that her family usually uses to listen to gospel music. But Stevie is Misty's gospel, so it doesn't feel like a sin.
Once her eyes are lined nice and thick with rich black, Misty pockets the pencil and drifts from the bathroom, Stevie's voice growing louder as Misty comes closer. For a moment, Misty spins, arms outstretched, wrapped up in the sound. She gets dizzy and stumbles back to her room, where the music is loudest.
Her eyes are drawn to the Mason jar sitting on her windowsill. Inside is the butterfly she'd caught several days earlier, when it was still just a little green worm. It had been in its cocoon for so long, and now it's free - but not free, at the same time, stuck within the glass.
Misty walks over to the window and slides it open, smiling softly as she does so. She then picks up the jar, holding it up in the sunlight. The butterfly doesn't move.
Misty looks at it for a moment, and her smile slides off her face. He's dead, her butterfly; she's trapped him for too long, and he is dead. Her eyes grow wet, and then the black under her eyes begins to bleed down her face. She calms quickly, though, and stares at him for a moment, transfixed. A strange energy has come over her, coursing through her veins like a drug. For a moment, she wonders if it's the Holy Spirit taking hold of her, but no, this energy is all her own. This is ... magic of her own creation.
The butterfly's wings are beating against the glass when Misty finally snaps out of it.
Lightheaded, she fumbles the top off the jar, and he finds the opening to his prison quick enough. He's gone a second later, leaving Misty holding an empty Mason jar, her eyes wide, her smile wider, and her eyeliner smeared. She finds her voice again in time to sing along.
"Rhiannon, taken by, taken by the sky ..."