Butterflies drink tears to harvest sodium and minerals essential for their eggs and metabolism, yet this act serves a darker purpose. Butterflies are the silent guardians of this realm. They are cursed to witness every sound and sight in the world. Know this: if a butterfly drinks your tears, it is because it carries the burden of your sorrow, unable to offer comfort despite seeing and hearing all.
They whisper their secrets to the candlelight fairies. In turn, these fairies convey everything to the God who slumbers amidst the mountains. Such has been the order since life began. But what happens when mortals begin to crave more? What then?
This is not a love story. This is life.
*
Neva dreamed of an angel drifting down from the sky, light as a feather, and a dark, monstrous figure rising to meet the fallen seraph with a woman in his arms. When she opened her eyes in her vast, plush bed, she looked around in disorientation, momentarily forgetting where she was.
"I am in my room," she whispered, placing a hand over her chest. Her sensitive heart raced after every dream; this time was no different. She inhaled deeply, yet the air filling her lungs felt insufficient.
Neva craved the cold, though she could not explain why. Her room, conversely, was stiflingly warm, and the sunlight piercing through the window felt intrusive. She slipped out of bed, retreated to the bathroom, and splashed her face with freezing water. Her reflection in the mirror seemed alien; she frowned. Her alabaster hair, eyebrows, and lashes remained unchanged, yet the expression in her gray eyes unsettled her. She shook her head, trying to dispel the look, but failed.
"Nice..." she muttered, drying her face. "Why did it have to be today?"
Hearing the door open, she quickly exited the bathroom. The maids offered polite smiles, and though Neva returned them, tension knotted in her stomach. She stepped onto the small platform in front of the tall mirror. The maids stripped her of her nightgown, placing it in a wicker basket.
Neva studied her naked reflection for a long moment. The sight of her ribs protruding with each breath disturbed her, yet she could not look away. When she raised her arms again, they dressed her in a light, cream-colored gown adorned with intricate lace. Finally, after weaving her white hair into a braided crown, they quietly departed. She was alone again. Why wouldn't the strange ache in her heart and the haunted look in her eyes simply vanish?
She strode onto the ivy-covered balcony. Her father had always wanted the vines removed, but Neva forbade it. She needed to see nature reclaiming the stone. Leaning against the balustrade, she observed the chaos in the palace gardens. A faint, cynical smile touched her lips; it all seemed so foolish. She loathed the "Rite of the Bear"—a feast held on this day every year—precisely because she could never tame the beast. Why could her father, King Reagan, her stepmother Regina, and her stepsister Alice mount the bear with such ease, while she failed?
Trying to calm her racing heart—1, 2, 3, 4, 5—she stepped back inside. What is wrong with my heart today?
It was time. Ignoring the guards at her door, she hurried down the palace stairs, the hem of her cream dress trailing behind her like a ghost.
Stepping into the grand gardens, she glanced around timidly. All eyes were upon her; her ethereal appearance always drew attention. She locked eyes with her father, who sat beneath a shaded canopy, and walked toward him with a subtle smile. She took her seat to his left. To his right sat Queen Regina, and beside her, Neva's half-sister, Alice. Sensing Neva's presence, Alice turned and offered a warm, genuine smile.
Neva had never understood Alice. Queen Regina detested Neva with a burning passion, yet Alice had always looked at her with love. Gratitude swelled in Neva's chest, and she smiled back—until Regina turned her hawk-like gaze upon her. Neva quickly faced forward, inhaling sharply to steady her nerves. She wished the feast would end instantly, but when did a day ever pass without humiliation?
Trumpets blared. King Reagan stood.
"I thank all guests for joining us at our traditional Rite of the Bear," he announced, pausing to let his gaze linger on Neva for a second before addressing the crowd. "For centuries, we have ridden the forest bears to demonstrate our enduring strength to our people."
Neva's ears began to ring. No. I don't want to do this. She had no desire to prove her strength, nor to be the subject of Regina's scorn. She was not the heir, unlike her half-brother, Prince William.
Speaking of whom... where was William?
Nausea rose in her throat. Every year, Regina made sure Neva felt like the disgrace of the family for her inability to ride the beast.
"What is the meaning of this, my King?" Queen Regina shrieked, snapping Neva out of her thoughts. The crowd murmured.
King Reagan frowned, raising a hand to silence her. "Enough."
Regina, realizing her outburst, lowered her head. "Accept my apologies, my King. I was insolent."
Neva leaned toward her father, whispering, "Father... what is happening?"
Reagan smiled gently. "You no longer have to do anything you do not wish to, my daughter. It is done."
Neva stared at the calm bear released from its cage. Relief washed over her. As her father approached the beast, another figure joined him. Prince William.
Minutes passed. King Reagan had completed his display. Now, it was William's turn. Neva forced herself not to look, but her eyes betrayed her. William stood effortlessly on the bear's back, one hand gripping its fur, his gaze locked intensely on Neva.
William would burn the world to ash for a single look from Neva's sad, gray eyes. He smiled at her, but she frowned and looked away.
"Why do you hate me?" William thought bitterly. "Is it so hard to love me?"
He was wrong. The Prince wasn't hard to love; objectively, he was flawless. Black hair, porcelain skin, a sharp jawline, and deep green eyes. Maidens across the kingdom would die for him. But his heart was rotten. He had inherited his mother's malice. Any love he held for Neva was destined to curdle into obsession. Yet, he knew he would destroy any world where she did not look at him with affection.
When the feast ended, Neva slipped away before the diplomatic chatter began. The hall was filled with the Archduke and his sons, Grand Dukes, Duchesses, Marquises, Barons, and Ladies, all discussing arena fights, royal marriages, loose creatures, and the Great Far Eastern Kingdom. The noise was suffocating.
She fled to her room, swapped her gown for simple clothes, and escaped into the forest with a basket containing a candle, a hairpin, and a book.
She found her sanctuary: a clearing of lush grass and wildflowers. Leaning against a tree, she lit the candle, mesmerized by the flame dancing in the wind. She pinned her long hair up and opened her book about dragons.
She had been six years old when she first saw the dragon in the palace dungeons. They called her the "Little White Princess" back then. A voice had called to her in the night, and instead of fear, she felt a pull. The massive beast had pressed its nose to her stomach and exhaled gently. She could have sworn it smiled.
"Find us," the voice had whispered. "We are lost in the order."
"I can't find you," Neva whispered to the empty forest. "I don't even know who I am."
She lay down and closed her eyes, drifting into sleep until a voice startled her.
"Hey! Ma'am! Wake up."
Neva scrambled up, heart pounding. A man sat nearby, grinning.
"Don't worry. I haven't touched you."
"Who are you?" Neva asked, backing against the tree. Her candle had died.
"I am like everyone else," the man said, staring into her gray eyes. "I am but a man."
Neva froze. He was strikingly handsome—buzzcut raven-black hair, dark brown eyes, and a physique that seemed carved from stone. But she sensed a sullenness in his heart that matched his stern face.
"I have to go."
"Goodbye, Princess," he said, looking past her into the woods.
Neva paused. She had forgotten that her appearance made her instantly recognizable.
"Goodbye, Man."
Later, from the highest tower, Neva watched the forest. She smiled. She had met many handsome men, but none had cooled her heart like him. Usually, people spoke of hearts warming up, but Neva loved the cold. Her burning, bitter heart felt soothed.
She slipped into Alice's room and lay beside her sleeping sister. Staring at the ceiling, tears spilled from her eyes, mingling with her hair, as a trembling smile graced her lips.
*
When did his life truly begin? Was it the day he was born, or the day he learned what pain was?
"When?" the man thought. He couldn't find the answer.
He sat on a bench in the circus arena of the Great Western Kingdom, staring at a small kitten sleeping on his shoe. He wanted to smile, maybe pet the sweet creature, but his body felt heavy. He just watched the kitten with his dark brown eyes.
When the kitten finally woke up and wandered away, he got up. He walked through the busy circus grounds. On his way to the fighting pit, he passed a sword-swallower and a magician pulling pigeons from a hat. None of it impressed him. Life was just a magic trick, an illusion. Even his own life.
He entered the tent at the end of the area, where the fighters gathered. The giant, dangerous men looked away when they saw him. He was used to it. No one could look him in the eye for more than three seconds.
In the dim light of the preparation room, he looked at himself in the mirror. His face was hard and serious—that was his natural look. He looked angry even when he wasn't. He touched his buzzcut raven-black hair with his rough, bandaged hand. When he was little, his mother used to say he looked like a prince with his dark hair and striking eyes. But as he got older, he realized he looked more like a criminal.
He smiled crookedly. He missed his mother, but she was far away now.
"Princes are admired," he whispered to his reflection. "You were wrong, mother. Everyone is afraid of your son."
He sat on a stool and finished wrapping bandages around his hands. He pressed his face into his palms, trying to block out the noise. He remembered his peaceful home, far away from this chaos. A memory flashed in his mind: sunny skies, floating islands, green fields, and a small house. He missed his mother's voice calling him from the kitchen window. It was a small pain in his chest, but he could handle it.
They called his name from the ring. He stood up slowly. As he walked toward the fight, the crowd roared. He wiped his nose, feeling the familiar anger rise. Fighting was the only way to earn money and control the rage inside him. He would fight as long as this city craved violence. It was the only way to stop thinking.
The fight began. And just like always, he won.
With his money in his pocket and fresh clothes on his back, he rushed out of the tent. He needed silence. He headed straight for the forest to his secret spot among the flowers. He didn't look at anyone. He just wanted to be where no one could disturb him.
But when he arrived, he froze.
A woman was lying on the ground.
The wind blew hard, moving the grass and flowers. A raven flew over her, but she didn't move. She was fast asleep.
He thought he should wake her up; it wasn't safe to sleep in the middle of the forest. But as he got closer, he stopped. He was confused. The person sleeping on the grass was Princess Neva.
It was the first time he had seen her this close. Her white hair was spread over the flowers. She was beautiful. He was sure he had never seen anyone so lovely in his entire life. She looked like an angel. Her white eyelashes were so long...
Without thinking, he reached out. He wanted to touch that beauty, but his fingers stopped just inches from her face.
What do you think you're doing? he taught. You have no right to touch her.
"Hey! Ma'am! Wake up."
She opened her eyes with a startle. Seeing a strange man, she jumped up in fear and looked around. It was dark.
Seeing her fear, the man stepped back and sat on the grass. He tilted his head and grinned.
"Don't worry. I haven't even touched you."
"Who are you?" the Princess asked, leaning against the tree.
"I'm like everyone else," the man said, looking into her gray eyes. "I am but a man."
She froze at the answer and studied him.
"I have to go," she said, gathering her things.
The raven-haired man watched calmly as she packed.
"Goodbye, Princess," he said, looking past her into the woods.
She paused. She had forgotten that everyone knew her face.
"Goodbye, Man."
The man smiled as he watched the forest, narrowing his brown eyes.
When the Princess disappeared, the man sat in the spot where she had slept. He leaned back against the tree. A soft breeze blew, carrying a heavenly scent—her scent.
He closed his eyes and looked up at the dark sky. A smile touched his lips.
"No..." he whispered to himself. "Don't do this to me."