When I turn around I see revulsion and wonder in her eyes. There are butterflies crawling in her hair, on her face and down her arms. I feel them on my skin too – light and raspy insectoid legs – and catch the flutter of wings close enough to make me blink.
They cling to the warmth of our bodies in this cold place.
The sound of the butterflies’ beating wings fills my ears. It sounds a lot like my heart.