The Witch's Awakening

The iridescent wings pulsed, a silent rhythm against the afternoon sun. It was more than just a flicker of color now; it was a presence, a tangible weight in the air around me. The butterfly, this impossibly beautiful creature that had become my shadow, settled on the weathered oak railing of my porch. Its wings, a mosaic of sapphire, emerald, and gold, seemed to shimmer with an inner light, a light that felt… familiar.

“You’re still here,” I breathed, the words a soft exhalation. It tilted its head, or at least, what I interpreted as a head. There was a knowing there, a depth in its stillness that transcended the simple instinct of an insect.

*“Where else would I be, child of the veil?”*