In almost every culture of humankind, people believed butterflies to be special. Foretellers, omens, messengers of the beyond, of angels or gods, souls of the dead awaiting purgatory or simply returned to visit their loved ones. Just to name a few out of his mind.
It was hard not to believe the tales, whichever one decided to pick as their personal interpretation, when the fluttering impeccable white wings of the creature flew close by and it gently landed on his pitch black robes. The contrast was too striking, the target just too unlikely for it to be a simple coincidence. What an image it must have been, on this bright day, cottom puffs of clouds carelessly scattered on the blue sky, soft summer breeze grazing the green fields and dancing around the erected gravestones; a white butterfly, with more fresh bouquets of flowers than it could be count, with a summer breeze to glide to, deciding to land over the grieving undertaker.
Through his normally blurred vision now weakened and watered down further from exhaustion and silent tears, he mused the meaning he could place behind the simple, so unlikely event happening before him.
A good luck omen? Ha. That was actually funny. Hilarious. 'Good luck living now', some angel laughed. 'Look at all the luck I've given you!', God said. He did have to agree, it would be hilarious if it were so.
A soul? If there was one person awaiting purgatory, if there was someone who would consider him a loved person left behind, it would be Claudia.
Claudia would appreciate if her soul turned into a butterfly. She was familiar with that belief, and she had found it as fascinating as she found all things. Picking a white butterfly as her embodiment was a beautiful choice.
He remembered her in white. She rarely allowed herself to be freed from the weight of her duty, and the sombreness of her Watchdog role tainted her mind as much as her attire, but she looked beautiful in white. It freed her, left her to be more than everyone wanted her to be; more than she thought she was. Her impossibly long dress floating around her at every step, fluttering and whirling as she waltzed not unlike the delicate movements of a butterfly's wings, her long blue hair loose for once and waving freely in that one moment of peace.
White was a colour of purity, a colour of luck, a colour of peace, a colour of freedom.
In some cultures, white was the colour of mourning.
A white butterfly could be an omen of good luck, but it could also be the soul of the woman he loved. It could be a sigh her soul had returned to him, or it could be a sign coming from God and that angels had sent him.
Tales to entertain human beings, to give them hope and dreams.
He had stopped being human too many years ago. And no God or angels had stopped the butchering of the woman buried before him, all the impeccable white forever tainted by blood red, the one person who made him wish he was human again.
He ignored the butterfly and looked down at chain hanging on his fingers much like a rosary, only the image of humanity's saviour was replaced by the locket with the remnant of the woman that had saved him. And now she was reduced to that lock of hair, forever. With no body, and no soul.
There's so much wishful thinking could do. Souls didn't turn into butterflies. They were taken by those punished like him, punished by God and angels, and never to return or be created again.
The butterfly flapped its wings and drifted away through the cemetery field.
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the end
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Author's Note: A spontaneous idea after I saw for the first time a butterfly come by 3 times to touch someone.
Also, Claudia's white attire imagining is directly inspired by the beautiful cosplayer sibyllinestew and her rendition of Claudia.
Also, Claudia being familiar with butterfly and souls folklore is a reference to a scene in my fic 'Reasons to smile'.
Thanks for reading