She Brings the Butterflies

Chapters

One For Winter to Own
The Days You Spend In Loneliness
Morning Always Arises with Vaster Pain
Tortured by the Plague
And the Trees Waved Their Heads in Sorrow
She Brings the Butterflies

One For Winter to Own

I knocked on the door to her cottage vigorously. As always, I had some get-together planned, and, as always, she was the last one to respond. But even upon her doorstep she did not answer me. I figured she would not mind the intrusion if I went in.

The door opened with ease and I slipped inside. A menagerie of animals swarmed about, shocked by my presence. Squirrels slipped into the tiny spaces amidst furniture, rats fled into their holes and birds tucked away to their houses. A single pink butterfly floated about. It alighted onto my hoof. I brushed it away with a smile.

I called out her name, and listened for even the faintest of murmured responses. I heard nothing. She was nowhere to be seen. A part of me wondered if she had gone without my invitation, but that thought was quickly ousted.

I searched her home, overturning furniture in an overly dramatic manner. A quick look in the fridge did nothing to help me find her. A sudden revelation occurred to me in that she may be still sleeping. A rational thought, but upon a quick look, she was not there. Her bed was in disarray, the comforter and sheets pulled off haphazardly.

Of course, I fell into a panic. I rushed out the door and ran to Sugarcube Corner. Twilight, Applejack, Rainbow Dash and Rarity were sitting at the table. I gave a mile-a-minute explanation of the brief and minor happenings. Unsurprisingly I was met with deadpan responses from the four. This was not the first time she had made herself scarce, to be sure. But I had a deep dread within me, one I had not felt before. I tossed it up to Pinkie Sense.

It was the dead of winter, I figured, so there was no way she would have gone somewhere without any shelter. The blustering winds would have made flight impossible, especially for her. Despite their misgivings on the severity of this event, I convinced my comrades to join me in the search.

We searched every inch of Ponyville, inside and out. There was no sign of her. We asked about, but the few that knew her replied with a shrug and an ‘I’ll keep an eye out’. The more we asked, and the more unsure responses we got, the more the lump in my throat grew. After asking the last of Ponyville’s citizens, my friends shared my apprehension. We theorized, wondering where she possibly could have gone, and why. Twilight stated that, since she had seen her the past night, she could not have gotten far.

Applejack pointed out that the only place left unsearched was the Everfree Forest. This elicited a gasp from the three others. I cringed at this notion. I envisioned her thin, frail body enveloped in frost. I thought of her little wings were pressed against her side, and thought of her shivering and whimpering. We had to find her, no matter what. This was not a game. It was not hide-and-seek. Even I knew that.

We resolved to expand our search to the frozen forest. We packed saddlebags with emergency supplies and some of Applejack’s wares. Rarity provided us with immensely puffy coats that made her wince in their tackiness. I half-smiled at seeing our search party. I said we looked like overstuffed pillows. The five of us shared a good chuckle, but then returned to sternness.

We wove our way through the bare trees, calling her name. There was no color in this maze of comatose plant life. The pale snow and black bark strained our worried eyes. Even I began to lose my voice after the eleventh hour.

Night had fallen upon the Everfree Forest. I wanted to keep looking, but Twilight stated it was far too dangerous, especially with the sorts of creatures that roam the forest at night. The rest of them agreed, with disappointed sighs and looks of dejection and concern. I begrudgingly went with Twilight’s judgment and we began to make our way back through the forest. I could have sworn I had seen a blur of beige and pink through the trees as I took one last glance at the forested landscape, but I know now that it was my positive attitude deceiving me.

I did not sleep at all that night, and for once it was not due to my sugar intake. I was tossing and turning about, calling out her name. No part of me wanted to be in bed. I wanted to be out there, looking for her. I knew my friends felt the same way, and even though Twilight said we should go back, I know it pained her to say it. No one wanted to admit that there was a small part of them that worried that we would never see her again.

Starting at five A.M., I began staring at the clock, giving up all hopes of sleep. I resolved to return to the search at six. It was a fairly painful hour, forcing myself into some semblance of rest. I constantly stifled the desire to bolt out of bed. When the second hand finally passed over the twelve for the last time, I ripped off the covers and darted down to the ground floor of Sugarcube Corner.

They were all waiting for me. I smiled and wiped a joyful little tear from beneath my eye. Rarity passed me my puffy coat. We set out again. The cold was oppressive, and our legs ached from the hours of walking. Our voices were hoarse from all of the yelling, and of course I made a joke about it. Nopony laughed this time. I decided to keep the humor to myself, especially since, at this point, even I did not find it funny anymore. My noble efforts of lightening the mood futile, we continued the search. We did not speak to each other. The only word spoken was her name.

Eventually, the night air became too thick with darkness. Our common sense finally overriding our yearning for her presence, we turned around and headed back to civilization. We returned to our homes, awaiting another sleepless night.

This was how every day began and ended for the next three weeks.

The Days You Spend In Loneliness

The Sunday after that, I stepped down the stairway of Sugarcube Corner to find them without any of their exploration gear. They gave me disappointed, apologetic looks. I asked them why they came without their supplies, but I knew. The whole excursion was hopeless to begin with.

Applejack answered me. She said we had not been finding any trace of her, and that, simply, our efforts were useless. She qualified this, saying that it is immensely painful to admit it, but somepony had to.

Rainbow Dash huffed angrily.

Twilight glared at Rainbow. She said that if Fluttershy refused to show herself, she must have not wanted us around her, and we have to respect that.

Rainbow Dash almost leapt out of her seat. She yelled that she did not want to abandon her.

Twilight reprimanded her, almost shouting back that the search had gotten them nowhere, and that it is a waste of time and energy. She was tearing up as she spoke.

I could tell she did not mean any of that. She was not even trying to convince herself. She wanted to keep looking, but could not imagine the pain of never finding her, or worse, finding her frail frozen body strewn amidst the dead undergrowth. She did not want the rest of us to experience that. She must have thought she was strong enough to handle it.

Rarity apologized profusely. She said she could tell how much this was bothering all of us, especially me, but she could not handle any more of it. The futility tore her apart inside. I could tell she felt useless, despite how helpful she had been in my silly efforts, and despite having taken them seriously for so long.

I was entirely sincere when I said I understood, and did not want them to feel guilty. I knew that there was little purpose in continuing. That would not stop me, however. I asked Rarity if I could keep the coat, and she gladly gave it to me.

I decided to move into Fluttershy’s cottage. I figured that, if she does return, she would come back here, and it also shortened the walk to the forest. I was fully intent on keeping the search on. I had no intention of doing anything else. Although I was most certainly sad, I was somewhat relieved that my friends did not have to bear the burden and grief I was inflicting on myself.

I had asked Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo to take care of her animals, and it appeared that they did a sufficient job. The place was still bustling with life. A few steps into the cottage, I heard a slightly muffled crunch. I lifted my hoof to find the crumpled corpse of a butterfly.

I placed my saddlebag on the wooden table. I had only brought necessities. Within the overstuffed bag was a miscellany of useful things— rope, a map of the Everfree Forest, binoculars, a megaphone, bandages, a pocket knife, matches, and balloons. Gummy, of course, made the move with me. He isolated himself from the other animals, finding great joy in having his own swimming pool in the bathroom.

Having set up, and after feeding the animals, I wrapped the coat around my body and grabbed the saddlebag. I headed into the thick barricade of foliage alone. I called out to her with the megaphone. It drowned out the sound of my hooves pressing into the thick, compacted snow. Its squealing noises distracted me. I was not thinking as I wandered. I was only calling her name.

I repeatedly saw the outline of her figure made in the thin branches. The draped withered vines resembled the silhouette of her hair. I saw blurry images of her tail slipping between the tree trunks. I knew she was here, whether or not the images I was seeing were merely the hallucinations of my hopeful mind.

The shadows began to burn at the snow beneath my feet. When it became difficult to recognize the contours of my hoofprints, I began to head back, my head hung low both to follow my trail and out of utter dejection. A flurry of snow carried by light wind began to dust the trail and tickled at my eyelashes.

I returned to the cottage, dripping with the melted snow. I hung up the waterlogged jacket on the doorknob. I caught a glance at the floor and saw the remains of the butterfly. I swept up the crushed insect parts and tossed it into the wastebasket.

I collapsed onto the couch. The amount of ache my limbs experienced did not bode well. This was merely a first solo attempt of many. I knew my body would not be able to take what I was planning. There was no way I would cease this search.

Exhausted, I managed to drift off into sleep. My mind was haunted by her soft visage, her gentle voice, and her azure eyes. I found myself face-to-face with her. Her plush skin began to sink in. The outlines of her cheekbones became more and more sharply defined, until her thin flesh sagged around her bony frame. The trees bent inwards around us, shaking from their branches swarms of butterflies. They hovered about us, moving ever closer and closer. Hundreds of them landed on her body. They peeled her skin away. I gripped onto her. They alighted all over my body. I felt one begin to tear into my flesh. Then another followed. Thousands of tiny needles penetrated me.

I awoke, panting. My vision was blurred with tiredness. I looked forward. Perched on my chest was a single pink butterfly. I gasped and squirmed off of the couch. The butterfly fluttered away.

The morning light that poured in through the window scorched my eyes. I walked through the minefield of sleeping rodents and to the door. I grabbed the coat and the saddlebag. There was no use in doing anything else. I opened the door and stepped out, but felt my hoof bump into something unexpected.

A basket of apples was placed at the doorstep. There were a half-dozen, nestled in a checkerboard cloth. I smiled a little inside.

Morning Always Arises with Vaster Pain

The search continued. Every morning, I would find the apples waiting for me. That was all I ever ate. I would always thank Applejack in my mind before taking the first bite. I cannot say I could taste them. Sweetness had left me. But what was sweet the thought of her, exerting herself to bring these over to me. She was respecting my craziness and my desperation. She was enabling me to continue the search, despite how unapproachable I was, and how terrible of a friend I was being to all of them.

I never went back into town. I stayed in the cottage, and spent my time either searching for her or making futile attempts at sleeping. Though I had ceased talking to all of them, they still showed how much they cared. They understood I was desperately gripping onto a friend I could never accept to lose. They were too; it was just that they were strong enough to carry on with their own lives while doing so.

I did not know how I could ever face them. Parties were a thing of the past. Even a get-together of any sort would only lead to tears. No amount of levity could ever fill the void and stifle the sadness and regret. I was being cowardly. But we were still friends. They cared for me in a different way. An acceptance of my useless attempts at keeping us all together, whilst realizing that I was tearing them apart— that was our new form of friendship.

One morning, I found a ribbon-wrapped box at my doorstep beside the basket of apples. The packaging was most certainly Rarity’s handiwork. I opened it. Within were a knitted scarf and padded snow boots. I noticed that, although elegant in their simplicity, they lacked the particular pizazz her pieces tended to possess. It seemed as if beauty was a sacrifice for practicality. The fact that she was willing to martyr herself in that way, which was most difficult for her, warmed my heart.

Occasionally in my search, I would look up to the canopy of dead branches and see a rainbow trail cross the sky. Despite the blustering winter winds, she was willing to offer her help to me. She brought color to the monochrome landscape. Abandoning her was against her nature. I knew she was surveying the gloomy landscape, her sharp eyes darting back and forth in search of a beige and pink spot. I wondered why, whenever she flew by, it felt as if it were raining, no matter how clear the skies were.

I would also often hear the sound of a mare talking to herself, the sound of magic tinkling, and the sight of a trail of violet sparkles. She echoed me, calling her name into the gloom. There was always some talk of tracking spells, and she mentioned my name often. There was always despair in her voice. She often choked up as she spoke. I always wanted to call out to her, but then I would realize that having her know that I knew she did not let go would only hurt her in the end.

I hoped I could find her. I hoped we could all meet one day, and have a wonderful party and everything would return to normal. But as the days, weeks, and months past in my futile search, I believed in the possibility of this less and less. Seasons came and went, but all days were the same. All of my thoughts were focused on her. I do not know what had me so convinced that she was alive, let alone in the forest after all that time. I wondered if I had missed my chance to find her. I resolved that I was wasting my time, overthinking this. A friend was missing and I needed to find her, no matter what.

I strained myself to stop thinking. I managed to force myself into sleep, though my dreams were still haunted by her.

I checked the doorstep one spring morning. There were no apples. I wondered if Applejack had ceased bothering with me. But I had more faith in her than that. I walked towards town to investigate.

Tortured by the Plague

It was a bright spring morning, but it felt petrifyingly cold.

The only motion in the town was the flutter of pink wings. Its pulse was the twitching of their antennae. They were perched on every surface, their wings slowly expanding and contracting. There were so many, I could swear I could hear them breathing. The streets were paved with them. They parted as I walked down the dirt road, my stomach twisting at what I saw.

They uncovered corpses as they flew away. They were lying strewn on the side of the road, or against a building’s façade, or in the windows of the shops. Some were still in carriages, their limp bodies draped out the windows or reclined in the seats. All were unscathed, their bodies perfectly untouched and intact. Children, elders, and friends, all were still. It was a silent, dead, perverse playground for little pink butterflies. I walked through the streets, trying to avert my gaze from the bodies. My heart felt as if gnarled vines were wrapped around it, and with every carcass I saw, they constricted tighter.

What had caused this? I asked myself this repeatedly, but obviously I had no answer. And there was no purpose to the question. The cause did not matter to me.

This was my home, once. These were all my friends. I knew each one’s name. I knew each one’s birthday. But they were now just piles of flesh, every last one of them. I shuddered at the thought of my four friends. I did not want to see what happened to them. I felt I knew, though. I could not accept it. I headed for Sweet Apple Acres, though I dreaded what was in store.

There was a disgusting beauty to the sight of the trees. They reminded me of cherry blossoms, with their fluttering soft pink petals. The barn was covered with them. I opened the door and they parted from the walls. The barn had no life within it but the butterflies. I swatted them away with my hoof. I saw four bodies huddled together in a corner.

My knees quivered. I collapsed before them. Tears ran down my face and fell to the straw beneath my feet. I slid over to her, dragging my body through the dirt and straw. I grasped her orange body with my hooves and screamed. This was not her. This was some husk. The real Applejack was no longer here and left behind this empty replica. That honest heart, the strong frame, the eyes filled with determination, none were present. This thing I was holding in my hooves was not her.

Something took her from me. Something took all of them.

I dug four holes in front of the barn. I laid them down within and covered them with earth. I placed four misshapen stones at the heads of their resting places. I set off to Twilight Sparkle’s library, prepared for the worst.

Once again, the butterflies poured out when I opened the door. I found her in her bed, tucked in, with her hooves poking out of the comforter. Her head was propped up on the pillow. I knew she was gone, but I checked for a pulse anyway. She looked peaceful, and I found some solace in that. Spike, as well, was curled up as if nothing had happened. I thought about how much she had changed, and how far she could have gone. I thought about all the times she used that big brain of hers to dilute my craziness. I had no one to talk to anymore. I had no one to keep me sane. My throat felt clogged, and the tears did not cease. I gently dragged her and Spike out of the oak and buried them beside each other. I placed Elements of Harmony as the headstone.

I proceeded to Carousel Boutique. Their deaths hurt me enough, but it made me feel even sicker that I was making my rounds, burying the friends I called dear. I had spent my life with these mares. We shared laughter and adventure. Our lives were intertwined. And I selfishly refused to stay by them for their final moments for my own needs. I shook off this thought. If I had not secluded myself, I may have perished to whatever claimed them.

I found Rarity slumped over in her chair in front of her workbench, covered in the accursed butterflies. I swatted away at them, killing some with my hoof. One of her hooves was covering a bobbin wrapped with pink thread. Something told me she was making something for me. I winced and embraced her drooping body. She had given so much to all of us. The only thing I could give her now was a proper burial. I dressed her body with the maroon dress we had made for her. I placed a mannequin with one of her works-in-progress as the headstone.

I had no means of finding Rainbow Dash. I searched the streets, checking the faces of bodies. Part of me was also dreading every time the butterflies flew away from the bodies. I was worried to see her among them. Though that would rid me from the burden of the search, I still possessed a shred of hope for her return.

I found Rainbow Dash draped over a tree limb. I assumed she had been sleeping there. Her body was slouched over, her legs hanging free. I tried to climb up, grasping a lower limb, but I slipped down and fell on my face. I shook off the dirt and smashed my flank into the tree. With each slam, more tears fell from my face. Eventually her body was shaken free, and fell before me with a sickening flop.

Being interred within the ground was against her nature. She was free, and always moving, bringing color across the sky. And she must have hated that she could do nothing to help us anymore. She did not want to leave us, but whatever forces that caused all of this destruction rent her from our presence. I buried her at the foot of the tree, unable to provide anything more for her.

I returned to the cottage. At this point, and more so than before, I was determined to find her. There was a sliver of hope, but it was a different kind of hope. It was a desperate, terrified hope, which meant I was bound to the woods for the rest of my existence. It was a hope I had to possess. I could not accept losing them all. There was still a chance that she was alive. There was a possibility she may return to her home.

I placed a candle on the windowsill and lit it. I hoped for it to be a beacon for her return. A single butterfly rose from its perch and fluttered over to the candle. It danced around the flame, its orange light kissing its pink wings. I watched it rise and fall, fanning the faint fire slightly with each flap. I wondered why these terrible butterflies were still here, while the one whom they love is lost within the gloomy forest.

I stared at the window, hoping to see her dandelion face lit gently by the candle. Watching its blurry light, I drifted off to sleep with tears still in my eyes.

And the Trees Waved Their Heads in Sorrow

A thin crease of bright morning light through the curtains awoke me. I found myself staring at the candle, now extinguished. A pair of scorched wings was lying beside it. Something compelled me to open the window. I whispered her name into the morning air, but felt the sound of my voice consumed by the maze of foliage and drowned in the gloom. I once again envisioned her pale face slowly approaching the pane of glass, staring at me with those large, infinitely kind eyes.

I grabbed the saddlebag, and headed out the door. I kept my head held forward and walked into the forest again, kicking away at the butterflies that covered the grassy ground like despicable delicate autumn leaves.

My mind raced. All of this information scattered around and scrambled about within my head. I thought of the butterflies, the bodies and the friends I once knew. Nothing meant anything. I needed to find her. But I felt as if I could not carry on. Too much had happened. There was a shard of hope, though, and I could not ignore that. It was wedged deep into my eye.

I bemoaned that I had been left in this necropolis, this throne of corpses, all by myself. There was nothing left. There was no one else to help find her. Why was I spared, while all my friends were taken? Why did I have to bear the burden of finding her, and bear the immeasurable pain of waking up every morning and remembering all of my friends had perished? I blamed fate, I blamed Celestia, I blamed the sky and the gloomy forest, and the butterflies.

Part of me wished to be among the dead; the same part of me also wished for the closure of finding her corpse. That would end the suffering and I could live out a less painful existence until I meet them in whatever lies after. I wanted this part of me to disappear, but I knew it was only growing stronger.

I hated hope. I despised that part of me believed finding her was a possibility. It may have been years since I started searching. I wished I could say that I had forgotten why I even began because it had been so long. I wished I could say she did not haunt my mind every second of my life, conscious or not. It was hope that was killing me from the inside.

I had given up on eating, myself, but I had continued feeding her animals with the seemingly limitless supply of seed and kibble she had left behind. My body was weak and everything ached. My stomach felt as if it had receded into my ribcage and twisted around my heart. My mane was matted with sweat, dirt and tears. And none of this mattered to me.

Everything felt cold to me. Despite the cloudless sky and the oppressively bright sun, my skin still shivered. I held my face beneath its seemingly warm light and felt nothing. The trees swayed in the light breeze, as if bowing their heads in mourning.

I heard her voice. I did not make out what she said. It was that hushed, beautifully demure, melodic tone. It swept over me and I felt comfort. I knew it was her. And I knew it was simply the hallucination of my starved, desperate mind. But something about hearing that voice in the silence of the forest gave me solace.

I still saw visions of her. I saw the butterflies flocking around her, shifted by the light zephyrs of her frail wings as she flew. I saw her face, her delicate lips making that wonderful upward curve I had so sorely missed. And I saw her azure eyes, those deep pools of kindness I wished to stare into again. I saw her rosy hair carried by the breeze as she walked beside me. I moved in to embrace her but she faded away before my hooves could touch her.

She was the tree trunks. She was the outline of the branches above me. She was the shadow I cast behind me. She was the hoofprints, the spring violet crushed underhoof, the rustling of leaves, the smell of verbena, the insects, the squirrels, the weeds, the dew, the seasons, the mornings, the nights, the cottage, the hope, the forest, the butterflies.

She was not lost. She was not taken. She was still Ponyville’s, not the Everfree’s. She was still my friend.

Night had once again fallen upon the Everfree Forest. The frigid blackness numbed my hooves. I began walking back, the silence filled with the thought of her voice. I entered the fortress of my hope once again, and lit a candle on the windowsill. Its light reflected on the thin coat of frost that enveloped the glass on the outside.

This horrible nightmare had seemed so very real to me. I thought of the hope. Hope not for her but for the release of death, for the shadow of their dread wings to cast over me and spread their poison. I wished to inhale their vile spores and for my candle to burn out. I begged her to release me from my duties, and from my hope that chained me, be it from death or from her return. But she could not answer me.

I thought for a moment that I should let go. I would not have much longer if I continued this. I have lost her, the warmth, the daylight. All that was left was the gritty blackness and that hope for her return.

I detested these thoughts. I wanted to grasp them by the neck and shake them until they ceased.

I fell asleep, once again praying that my beacon would draw her to her home.

She Brings the Butterflies

A weak tapping sound awoke me. The sound was of wood reverberating. My heart began beating rapidly. My eyes lit up with a flicker of life once again. I rose from the couch and scrambled to the door. I hesitantly reached out my hoof, begging that it be her. I gripped the cold doorknob and twisted it. I pulled the door open, feeling a great force pushing it towards me.

The frigid night swept in. The room was filled with butterflies. They poured in like a pink avalanche and rose to the ceiling. They cleared from the doorway, leaving her standing before me, lit by the pale moonlight. She collapsed into my hooves. I staggered back, but supported her body. I embraced her tightly and said nothing.

Her body was gaunt. Her wings were featherless. Her mane was tattered and matted, and its massive length dragged on the doorstep. Her eyes were frozen, grayed and glazed over from the thousand nights alone in the darkness. Her face was sunken in and bony, her once soft delicate features angular, with her skin tightly wrapped around her skull like a drum. Her breaths were short and stuttered. Though her body was frigid, I felt warmth again, for the first time in months.

In tears I carried her up the stairs and to her bed. I laid her gently on the mattress and pulled the comforter over her. I lied beside her, tucking myself beneath the comforter, and held her close to me. I wrapped my forelegs around her limp form, gripping to her warmth. I sobbed quietly, pressing my face against a pillow. She slowly moved her hoof over to my face. I raised my head. She rubbed against my cheek, wiping a tear away. She stared deeply into my weeping, drooping eyes and slowly blinked, nodding her head slightly.

She opened her frozen lips and whispered to me. Her voice sounded like a spring breeze blown over the strings of a harp.

“I’m so sorry. I brought this plague upon all of you. I tried to flee. I tried to lead them into the forest, but I… I failed.”

I gripped her tighter. She was so brave. Her sacrifice had left her body ravaged by the cruel forest. I knew she was fading. I knew any of her weak breaths could be her last. I did not care that the butterflies landed all over the comforter and gently extended and contracted their wings.

I was with her. I could see her delicate figure, feel her velvet body and the gentle beating of her perishing heart, and hear her every breath and her melodious voice. All of this time waiting, the light had finally drawn her back to me. And the myriad of days spent in the frigidity of that awful forest had not been for nothing. I had not lost the daylight. We would greet it together and take in its warm light. I felt comfort, regardless of the death she brings upon her featherless wings. All of this pain, all of this suffering was all for me. They had been for this moment. She took far greater pain upon her frail back, carrying it on her weak little wings, away from all of us. But it was too much for her. She could not manage to carry away the plague. It was inevitable.

I finally found words to say. I choked up as I took in a breath. It hurt my throat to speak, but I managed a strained whisper through my weeping.

“Hush now. It’s okay. You don’t have to run anymore.”

Together we looked at the ceiling. Their shadowy wings hovered over us. They covered the windows, the portals into the frozen night, smothering the moonlight. They devoured the air around us. There was no dread between us. There was no fear. That hope that I feared so terribly had been fulfilled. There was only togetherness, and this moment.

I gripped her tighter as they began to fall upon us. She weakly wrapped her hooves around me. I shuttered at her touch, then sighed happily. She rested her head against my neck. I felt her breath on my face. I could feel her chest tremble more every time she exhaled.

They swarmed around us and enveloped our bodies. I saw her eyes begin to slowly close. My eyelids grew heavier as each one landed on the comforter. Some fell on my face and I did not flinch. I could feel my consciousness drifting away. My eyes shut completely. I felt as if I was slipping into a beautiful, forgiving dream, one with her. The pain was drowned in the fulfillment of that wonderful hope. We were not joining the necropolis upon which this cottage stood. We were leaving this awful kingdom of loneliness together on the wings of a thousand rosy insects. At one minute past midnight, the room was filled only with butterflies.