In a simulation of a simulation, it is snowing. An endless expanse of white, blanketing them. As if to suffocate the bugs on the ground, whether spiders or the insects they eat. There are butterflies flying around them, unaffected. It is so very cold.
âItâs okay, Gonta,â an AI is telling him. He is standing over him. He is on his knees. As if to pray or beg, for mercy or forgiveness, he does not know. The AI takes his head into his arms. âEverything will be okay. Weâll make it okay.â
âIs Kokichi lying again?â His voice shook. The ghost in front of him stroked his hair, humming.
âOf course not,â the AI smiles. âWould I lie to you, Gonta?â
The Butterflyâs Revenge.
[A scene from my work A Monarch Caught In A Beautiful Spiders Web.]










