#delicate wings

If you thank the Butterfly sincerely, you unlock too-adorable-to-handle-bashful-bug-mode!

Are you happy Anon? I whipped up some Ombre from Delicate Wings by @imthepunchlord and it’s ALL YOUR FAULT!!! LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY PERSON!!!

I even threw in some Black Plague

Please read this. It’s a message I think we all need to hear at some point.

Once upon a time there was a glasswing butterfly. She had no color when she flew, and children called her ugly, saying there was no difference between her and a regular insect.

This butterfly had burst from her cocoon, expecting to be admired like all the other butterflies. When she took off in flight, no one said a…

There were many things that Veata had come to miss of their lives before the Walkers, but nothing hit home quite as much as the sudden loss of music, honest to God music, and dancing. Of course, there was little to stop her from the latter, but in light of what the world had become, of what she had become in order to survive in it, it felt disorienting and ridiculous. She had tried it once, just to see if she could, when she had inadvertently hidden herself for a handful of days in an old dance studio. It was not the first time that she had practiced dancing alone, but from the moment that her arms had set around the shoulders of an imagined partner and she took up the simple pace of a waltz it had all felt wrong. Her steps though perfect in their count and rhythm hadn't felt familiar to her, smooth movements of the body that had once come naturally were jarring instead, the sensation of peace had vanished and in their place she felt like a fumbling, foolish child.

She hadn't tried again since. 

Someone would come looking for her soon if she didn't, or perhaps her companion would move on when she didn't show her face after a handful of minutes at the promised rendezvous point, but she stood in front of the mirrored wall all the same with folded arms and a hesitant expression. Most days, especially as of late, Veata could easily go without thinking on what their lives were like before all of this. Other days though something as little as a chipped mug or the humming of an old song or even the scent of somewhat cleaned laundry could bring it all back. Those days she was often quiet and withdrawn, uncertain in where she stood with her emotions, as old memories resurfaced one-by-one. A person didn't make it in this world by clinging to a past of things that would never be again, but the memories of it kept a touch of humanity in some.

I collect Faerieglens (I'll post some pics of them later), they are these pretty little things, with delicate wings... I MEAN FREAKING DELICATE WINGS.

GAH. You guys have no idea how many wings I have had to glue back on. Some of them multiple times!