It Means Death.

Flutter By (Part 2)

Ut delerent prorsus ex abdito spirat quod papiliones sunt facillima

The rarest of butterflies are the easiest to obliterate

Quae magno atque minora deformare

You are a great price, and there are lesser things to vilify

In omni re, class nostra.

There's a purpose for everything, and ours align.

Bene scis nostrum

Know that you are doing well, our love

A velo, sed 'super eam

Flutter by, but it's over

Actum est.

It's all over.

~~~

Day 1

It was a dark day.

I opened my eyes sleepily, like a newborn baby. I had no idea who I was. Where was I?

I suddenly yawned, and out of curious habit raised an arm to cover my mouth. Only, I tried to raise my arm. I looked down and saw some sort of metal.

Wait. What?

I went against my manacles furiously, making them shake with a clanking noise as they bumped against the table I was placed on. I tried to get up and to get their attention and moved violently.

The people took their own sweet time, doing their own thing. Their eyes were focused intently on screens. Eyes that held a malevolent glint, a sick interest.

I gurgled a little, throat raw.

"What is it, dear? Do you need water?" The person closest to me turned. I saw the teeth that they used to enunciate their evils.

I nodded furiously. Who were these people? Why did I hate them so much already?

"Pass me the liquid." The person turned and took a beaker from a colleague.

Some part of me salivated. It seemed as if I had not drunk for days. But another part of me began to have a hunch. If they were scientists, then I must be here for...

"Open your mouth." The scientist lifted the beaker to my lips.

I had a revelation. I shook my head wildly. No. No.

"Open up." The scientist began to look frustrated.

I made noises deep in my throat. I would not take the liquid. I had a vague idea of what it was.

I did not like it.

The scientist seemed not to like me either and turned around to the nearest screen at with a twisted smile. Fiddling with something, the scientist wrote something down and said:

"The rarest of butterflies are the easiest to obliterate."

With that, all the scientists left, chanting.

Delerent prorsus. Delerent prorsus.

Tears ran down my face. How did I get in here, anyway? What are they doing to me?

Day 2

"You are a great prize, and there are lesser things to vilify."

I was awakened by these words. Words that sounded like praise, yet they had a sinister quality to them that made my insides churn with trepidation.