Chapter One: Six Months Later… Lady Danaus

They are due to present your belongings today. It has been six months since your passing. Why has it taken so long? I do not understand, Jayden. What could they be returning? An Acid-Breathing dragon delivered you to your Oblivion. There wasn’t anything left. Every Fae in your platoon made it perfectly clear to me. I have listened to so many accounts of what happened that day, but the one aspect they all had in common was your bravery. But bravery doesn’t keep me warm at night, and it doesn’t answer my questions. Like, why by all that is light in the universe am I writing to you when you aren’t here? Am I in denial or still drowning in love?

Our queen visits me when she can. She comes under the guise of palace business, but you know, Aurora is really just checking on me. She is a good queen and a sweet friend. Aurora attempts to give me minor tasks to keep me busy and make me feel useful, which I complete, but my heart is not in them. How can it be? My spirit disintegrated with you in that cave.

The butterflies tell me the couriers will arrive shortly with your possessions. I must go to greet them. Today, I shall don your favorite gown for the last time, the blue one with the big butterfly pattern and the slender straps that encircle my neck. The one I was wearing when we met. After today, I will stow away it in my closet, and I will never put it on again.

All my love and light,

~Danaus                         

Lady Danaus reached for a small stack of paper blue hearts and wrote “your smile” on one of them, then positioned the heart in the center of the letter and folded the parchment, sealed the correspondence with wax, the soft, green goop spreading as she pressed her brass butterfly symbol. She placed the parchment on the pile at the corner of her desk and surveyed the stacks. There were five, and each was at least three feet high. Next to them was a jar. Despite being frosted, she could still make out what the jar held inside, small blue paper hearts like the one she had written on. Danaus unscrewed the top and reached her hand inside, her fingers grazing the papers for a few seconds until she found one that spoke to her. Carefully, Danaus pulled out a heart. She stared at the heart folded in half, the irony of the half-heart shape not lost on her. She harrumphed and unfolded it. The neatly printed handwriting belonged to Jayden, who wrote “Your courage.” 

“Fitting for today,” she said with a touch of annoyance. The irritation directed at the day, not at her lost love.

Once again, Jayden, you are correct, even from the beyond you are wise. The jar of “Jaydenisms” was an idea that Danaus’ mate had before a mission when the war was in its infancy.

The room dissolved from the bright light of morning as she looked around their bed. A haze took over, and what was neatly made became a tangled mess of sheets and blankets. The pattering of rain replaced the early birds’ songs. Two bodies replaced the empty bed. It was a dark night. She remembered listening to the rain as it splashed drop by drop on the windowsill. Danaus loved to fall asleep to the summer storms. Jayden rolled over, brushing the hair from her butterfly warden’s back. “What do you miss about me when I am on my missions?”

“Hmmm?” Danaus asked in a voice drenched in relaxation and bliss.

Jayden giggled, “I said, what do you miss most when I am gone?”

Danaus sighed, raising up onto her elbows as Jayden grabbed a few pillows for support. “I don’t know. I miss everything about you.”

“Name one thing.” Jayden winked and placed an index finger up. Her topaz skin glittered in the warm glow of the firefly lamp. Jayden then slowly traced her finger down Danaus’ spine.

The butterfly warden shivered under her lover’s caress, “Okay, okay. The way your neck smells in the morning. It differs from the rest of your body. It’s warm and inviting, like home.” She gently grazed Jayden’s neck. “Right here,” her hand lingered where Jayden’s earlobe and jawline met. “This is my favorite spot.” Danaus leaned in and inhaled. She nuzzled Jayden’s neck and then used her fingers to draw tiny circles down to her lover’s clavicle. Jayden closed her eyes and relished Danaus’ touch for the moment.

“Mmmm,” Jayden let out a breathy moan, tossing her head back. Her long dark hair with its streaks of green cascaded down her back while she enjoyed the attention. She opened her eyes and gave her monarch butterfly a soft smile, covering Danaus’ hand, holding it to her body, feeling its warmth before turning it over, raising it to her lips, and kissing Danaus’ palm. The warden watched her love, her eyes soft and serene at the kind gesture. Jayden held her hand, and they laced their fingers together. “I love your eyes, Jayden. I can see your strength and your sprit behind them,” Danaus said, gazing into her lover’s eyes.

Jayden smiled. “My aunt says I have my father’s eyes.”

Danaus shook her head. “I don’t know about that, but they are unique and not just the color. Though they are striking, outlined in dark green with flecks of gold, and I can never tell if I would call them mint green, sage blue-green, or moss. But it’s your spirt that makes them so beautiful.”

“It’s when I look at you, they light up my monarch. Ever since the very first day.” Jayden smiled ear to ear.

“Close your eyes,” Danaus commanded.

Jayden gave her a sardonic look.

“Come on. Please?”

“Okay.” She huffed, closed her eyes, and winked one eye open.

“I said close them!” Danaus grumped.

“Alright! I thought tomorrow night was role playing night. Geez,” Jayden teased and Danaus playfully slapped her leg.

Danaus leaned in and gave a soft, chaste kiss on each of Jayden’s closed eyes.

Jayden gave a content sigh and opened them. “That was nice. But what was it for?”

“Because you see me,” Danaus said quietly and simply.

Jayden smiled, “Oh yes, my monarch, I see you, and after I saw you, I was blind to everyone else.”

Danaus caressed Jayden’s face, and she leaned into the affections, holding Danaus’ hand there like she did before.                              

“When we are apart, we should write each other one thing we miss in every letter and save them in jars, so that when we argue, we can always remember time is not guaranteed.” 

Danaus slid her hand out from under her mate’s and tucked a forest green strand of hair behind Jayden’s ear. “That sounds lovely, morbid but lovely.” Then she pulled her in for a deep long kiss.

The memory dissolved, and Danaus refrained from wanting to smash the jar of paper hearts. She wondered where her hearts had gone and understood her own jar would never be full. “I hate that thing,” she mumbled, knowing she didn’t mean it. She exhaled and realized it was the wrong thing to say, hateful and cruel, but lately, that was how she felt. She walked around, feeling like the world was made of thorns and prickles constantly brushing up against her. The constant discomfort gnawed at her sanity. Even breathing hurt, like the air was made of sandpaper, ripping apart her innards. Danaus found no joy in life anymore. Everything was dull, as if the color had faded and was running dry. Soon it would all be gone, and only shades of gray would remain.       

 A Blue Morpho butterfly made circles around her body and landed on one of the piles. That snapped her out of dreary thoughts for a moment. The insect squeaked and chirped as it pondered the stacks.

“I have no clue what I plan to do with these letters. I know I have to do something about it, just not today.”

The butterfly chirped, clearly dissatisfied with its mistress’ answer as it took off from the mound of paper and flitted about. Ten more butterflies joined in and hovered above her head, their commotion sounding like Little Ones rushing in after school. “Yes, I am coming,” she said, her voice resigned.

Danaus stood and smoothed her blue silk gown. She paused at the mirror. The gown was floor-length, pale blue with large colorful butterflies floating around the entire frock. It was form-fitted and gathered at the hips, the bust line was ruched, and two straps came from the center to wrap around her neck. She fixed the straps as they dug into her skin; she turned and checked the back. Small crystals delicately adorned the wings of the butterflies winking in the light. She swayed her long crimson plait, and a few butterflies flew from her mane. Danaus glided her fingertips down the fishtail braid, examining the black-and-white pattern of hair interlaced into it. If she loosened the braid, the colors would resemble a butterfly wing in her mane. “Jayden, you loved my hair long, especially my wings.” She titled her head, grabbed the dagger Jayden made her carry in her right gladiator-style sandal, and hacked the braid off at the nape. Danaus watched the hair fall, twisting until it hit the floor. She twirled the dagger and placed it back in her sandal. Danaus ran her hands through her new hairdo and stepped over the braid like a dead snake, never giving it a second glance. She strode out the door, her butterflies trailing behind her, like the tail of a rainbow comet.