Cinderella Dressed in Ashes

34 A Path of Butterflies

Shew rode away.

She galloped down the hills, heading back to the fields before the forest, looking for the butterfly she’d missed when talking to Cerené.

Hordes of horses and three-eyed unicorns were coming after her. Dame Gothel and the servants urged the locals of the kingdom to help them hunt down the princess. They persuaded them that Shew was a vampire on Night Sorrow’s side. Regretfully, Shew snarled at a couple of locals trying to block her way, making Dame Gothel’s lie believable. Shew had no time to prove otherwise. She had to find the butterfly.

The poppy fields spread wide in front of her. She rode her unicorn across the fields as the weather changed all of a sudden. The sky darkened slowly into purple-reddish patches and snow began to fall, burying the lovely poppy flowers with a thick layer of white. Her unicorn struggled in the snow and the dark but still kept on going.

What is happening to the weather?

The thought reminded Shew that she had been capable of controlling the weather to her liking in the Waking World. It was one of the Sorrow’s powers. She must have learned to control that power later after she’d split her heart because it was beyond her capabilities now. Carmilla had changed the weather, trying to slow the princess down.

The weather slowed the locals down, but not the huntsmen. They were getting closer.

Still looking for the butterfly, Shew opened the bag Cerené had given to her. A wicked smile crossed her face when she saw its content. The bag was full of chalk and dead Rapunzel plants. Shew knew what to do with them.

Finally, Shew saw the butterfly, fluttering her feeble fiery wings against the cold. She admired the butterfly’s courage in this stormy and darkened weather. It put a brief smile on her face. Shew stretched out her hand, hoping it would get the message and rest upon her palm, but the butterfly wasn’t there to take shelter in the warmth of her hand. She was there to show her the way.

Shew followed the butterfly into the Black Forest.

She began marking trees with chalk on her way. It was Cerené’s gift to her so she could find her way back if she needed, and also to have some kind of a map to get to the cottage in the future, in case Cerené couldn’t create guiding butterflies for her.

A little later, the butterfly stopped by a tree. It kept circling around a certain leaf buried in the white snow.

“What?” Shew asked, her heart beating fast as the distant voices of the huntsmen worried her. “What do you want from me? Just show me the way to the cottage.”

The butterfly continued circling, its wings getting heavier. Shew worried it would die. She knew butterflies were Cerené’s longest living creations, but they died eventually like everything else.

“You want me to pick up the leaf?” Shew reached for it, watching the butterfly land on the back of her hand.

“You want me to be gentle?” Shew said impatiently.

She moved her hand slowly over the leaf, brushing the thick snow away. Underneath it, there were seven caterpillars. Shew’s heart almost stopped. It reminded her of another suppressed memory of Angel Sorrow’s infatuation with butterflies. The King of Sorrow had kept caterpillars safe in his garden, taking care of them. He’d been fascinated by their life cycle, watching as their cocoons as the fought their way to a new life.

You have no time for this! That damn voice inside Shew’s head growled. Forget the butterflies and run for your life.

“I know what to do,” Shew told the butterfly, burying her inner thoughts in the same dark place in her mind they came from. She imagined what Cerené would have done if she were in her shoes.

“We’ve got seven soon-to-be-beautiful passengers on board,” she told her unicorn, wrapping the caterpillars in their own protective leaf and tucking them in a safe place in her dress.

The butterfly flew higher, swirling with gratitude then began leading the way to the cottage again.

Then Shew heard the sound of approaching huntsmen. The butterfly froze in its place.

“Don’t worry,” Shew told it. “I think I know what to do,” she pulled a fistful of Rapunzel plants out, remembering when Cerené told her they would come to life again if planted back in the earth. She got off her unicorn and started planting the vicious plants everywhere, creating a shield against the huntsmen when they arrived.

“We’re going to rip off your toes!” One of the plants screamed at Shew.

“Can’t you just be grateful and shut up?” Shew complained, making sure not to walk near them. The plants were dark by nature and knew no manners.

“What good is it being grateful?” Another Rapunzel yelled at her, trying to eat her foot. “We’re from hell!”

“Nice to meet you,” Shew mumbled, having planted plenty of them already. “Now do your job well and bite all those huntsmen and unicorns’ feet or legs or whatever it is that you do.” She jumped back on her unicorn and rode away, following the butterfly to the cottage.

She could hear the huntsmen’s unicorns tumble and moan behind her as she sped farther into the forest. This should keep them away from her for a while.

Deeper beyond the trees, the Black Forest became much darker. Thick and curvy Juniper trees moved over her head, almost blocking all light from the sky, except a tiny moonbeam sneaking through.

“Hey!” Shew shouted, waving at the moon behind the trees. “Are you really a girl? Could you help me? I know you might have something to do with the Lost Seven.”

The moon didn’t reply, nor smile.

“Of course,” Shew mumbled, riding along. “Who am I to get an answer from you? Only Cerené does.”

Deeper and deeper into the forest, Shew saw large golden fireflies, giving way with their glowing light. Then the butterfly stopped again. Shew pulled her unicorn to a halt.

“What is it now?” Shew asked. “Are you lost?”

The butterfly wasn’t lost. It was dying. Shew watched it dim and harden into a black piece of ashen glass then drop like a stone.

She watched it, speechless, as the world around her in the forest seemed to squeeze her with its darkness. She got off her unicorn and patted it for assurance.

“It’s going to be alright,” she whispered.

Looking beyond the wavering dark, Shew saw pairs of red oval eyes staring back at her. She pretended she hadn’t seen them. She was only worried how she’d find the cottage now.

The light from the fireflies turned out to be helpful. Shew walked carefully over the mushy ground underneath her, stepping over stones for safety. There were hissing sounds all around her, and she wondered if they were animals or ghosts. She drew out her fangs in hopes to scare whatever meant her harm.

“Happy birthday to me,” she muttered.

Shew’s voice made her feel a bit safer. Foolishly, she decided to sing a birthday song to herself, pulling her unicorn along. She rested the leaf of caterpillars on a thick branch filled with other caterpillars and cocoons. It seemed like a safe place.

“You’re much safer here,” she told them. “The huntsmen could find me and kill me any moment.”

She came across a small lake filled with frogs. They jumped out on the lake’s edge, croaking. She suspected they liked her birthday song, but listening carefully, she learned they were singing with her.

“Loki is right to hate your croaking,” Shew mumbled but didn’t mind their company.

As she rode deeper and deeper into the forest, she began feeling safer. She hadn’t found the cottage, and assumed the huntsmen had lost their way after whatever evil the Rapunzel plants bestowed on them. She still marked some trees on her way as she hummed her little birthday song.

Eventually, she came upon a spot in the forest rich with enough moonlight as if someone had drilled a hole of white light through the thickness of the trees above.

Then … everything froze to the sound of a pair of clapping hands.

Shew turned around and saw the red eyes had disappeared. The tree branches had stretched back as far as possible, and the fireflies hid in their shade.

Before Shew could catch her breath or question anything, a silhouette of a boy appeared under the light of the moon. It was if he were the center stage of the evening in the forest. He walked confidently toward her, slowly like a panther watching his prey. Then he stopped and leaned his shoulder against a tree, clapping again.

“One more time, please,” Loki said, waving his hands theatrically in the air. He looked like Loki but smelled like a monster; a cute, arrogant, and wicked one. He had his hood pulled back, his beautifully deceiving platinum blonde hair dangling down his shoulders, “sing it one more time, but with feeling,” he smirked.