Chrysalis

There is a room not far from here where butterflies are caged in black glass cocoons. They are meticulously pinned to display boards, but only one person ever sees them. The Caretaker visits far less often than she should. When she comes, she lifts the glass lids and admires the specimens, her life’s work. After a time, she seals the cases up, and when she leaves, she locks the door behind her. She is the only one who knows of this place.

She visits on and off, year after year. When she has the time, she adds more butterflies to her collection. Some are breathtaking, with massive wings and beautiful colors, but most are small and simple. Many of them are only halfway pinned, as though the Caretaker got distracted and forgot about them. Others, she has to dispose of, to her dismay; during the pinning process, their wings are ripped or their antenna falls off. They are beyond repair. So the Caretaker takes a deep breath and starts over.

The butterflies are dead. Or they appear to be. But whenever the Caretaker examines them, they flutter their wings feebly, struggling against the metal holding them down. And she wonders. She locked them up to protect them from all the prying eyes and hands. It was for their safety. At least, that’s the story she tells herself. The truth is that she is afraid. An epiphany. She knows how to change, but starting the process is the hardest part.

With shaking fingers, the Caretaker removes the glass for the last time. The butterflies strain towards the light with an urgency she has never seen before. They know they are almost free from their dark cocoons. She removes each pin slowly, careful to prevent damage to the delicate wings. The first butterfly rises into the air, hovers for a moment, then drifts through the open window. Another follows it, and then another, until hundreds and thousands of butterflies are pouring through the window. They fly as one, soaring over fields and rivers, small towns and cities. The sky is soon blanketed in them, swirls of color and movement against the world’s backdrop. And people start to notice.

There is an abandoned room not far from here, and the butterflies are gone. The Caretaker’s burden has been lifted. She, too, is free from her chrysalis. Fear doesn’t control her anymore. And she knows that whenever she wants to behold her butterflies, all she has to do is look to the sky.