It was spring in a world much like ours, a world touched by magic that goes mostly ignored, when a little girl opened her eyes for the first time to find herself born inside a fairy circle. She was born of Mother Earth and placed in a small forest at the edge of an even smaller farming village. She blinked her eyes in surprise and looked at the woodland surrounding her. A bunny pattered up to her and gave a sniff, tickling the girl with its cotton tail. The girl laughed, and in the place of sound, out popped a butterfly the color of the lavender under her head. It fluttered its wings, light as lace, and drifted higher into the air. The little girl stared at it in wonder and, deciding she liked butterflies, laughed forth a whole string of lavender Lacewings until the woods down below mirrored the dusk-painted sky up above.
Some say the girl was born with the gift to speak butterflies. Others are wiser.
The forest provided for the girl as if she was its daughter. The branches of an old oak expanded around the fairy circle, standing guard over the girl. And she grew. Foxglove sprouted out of the earth, alongside violets and larkspur, entwining and weaving themselves into curtains. And she grew. The woods produced chanterelle mushrooms, blackberries, and chestnuts a plenty.
And the girl grew.
She was a happy child. She made fast friends with the rabbits and robins and ravens. When the birds sang out their good mornings she opened her mouth and sang along. Black and gold wings fluttered through her lips, and the Monarchs floated through the forest like notes across sheet music. When the squirrels invited her to their treetops she responded with a cobalt blue Brushfoot. When her crown of daisies came apart she let out a Red Admiral, and the sight of it smoothed the wrinkle between her eyebrows. And always she was laughing lavender wings into existence. Every day she grew and basked and danced in a world of velvet rainbows.
One day as the butterfly girl waltzed through the woods a new sound embraced her ears. It was a quiet sniffling, unlike the snuffling of the badgers or wild pigs she was used to. Curious, the girl went to investigate. She followed the sound and found a boy drooped against a tree trunk. He heard her approach and whirled around. His face was a kaleidoscope of emotions. Sadness and fear and anger at being caught unawares. The girl smiled and offered a word of welcome that fluttered forth as a great Blue Morpho. The boy startled and stared in wonder at what he just witnessed. The girl got a better look at him now. She saw he was about her age, maybe a little older; she saw he was dressed similarly to the farmers she had watched through the thicket, and she saw two glistening trails flowing down his cheeks. He had been crying!
Eager to please him, she spoke warm words that floated out as rosy wings. The boy watched as the butterflies flew over to him, and he giggled when they landed on his ears and nose. Elated at the change her gift had brought, she laughed alongside him. The boy chased the lavender Lacewings, and the girl followed her new friend. She laughed at his antics to catch her words until every branch dripped with purple wings.
Eventually, the boy exhausted and collapsed in a mossy clearing. The girl took a seat beside him and crossed her legs, her delicate moth-silk dress draped over her dirty knees. The sun had sunk low in the sky and was playing peek-a-boo behind the nearby birch trees. The boy squinted up at her and grinned.
“That was fun! What’s your name?”
A Luna Moth pushed past her lips and drifted towards the sun.
He rolled over onto his stomach and placed his head in his hand. “Butterfly? Is that your name?”
A second Luna followed the path of the first.
The boy gave a small laugh. “Alright, I‘ll call you Butterfly Girl. My name’s Jack. I’ve never met anyone who could speak butterflies before!”
The little girl’s eyes rounded and twinkled with the colors of the sunset. She heard a faint voice calling from far off.
“That’s my mama. I’m not supposed to be in these woods. My folks say they’re dangerous. But I had fun!” He jumped up and started jogging towards the voice. “Nice meeting you, Butterfly Girl!” And he was gone.
The girl sat where she was for a long time after that. She smiled at where he had been lying then laid down herself in the dent his body had made. She spoke a Zebra Swallowtail and stared at its black and white stripes until it blended in with the birch bark. She said another then another. Then a Luna and another. Then lavender Lacewings and Monarchs and Blue Morphos and Sleepy Oranges and Spring Azures and Atlas Moths and Viceroys and all different colors of Brushfoots until her eyes grew heavy and she fell asleep.
The next morning Monarchs flew out with the morning birdsong. The girl waved at the squirrels as she strode towards the berry bushes. But there was a new feeling in her chest. There was a bruise on her heart she had never noticed before. And it ached. The little girl had never had a friend before and so had never experienced the absence of a friend. She was lonely and tried to form her mouth around the feeling. A Pearl Eye butterfly darted from her lips. She stared at its tan color, and the large black eyes on its wings stared back. It didn’t feel any better to know what was making the bruise ache in her chest but at least she could see it. She said it again and again, hoping it would make her feel better. She still felt alone but at least she had all these lovelies with her now, staring at her. She wiped her eyes and continued picking berries.
Later that afternoon she was lying by the stream, having just rinsed the sticky fruit juice from her fingers.
“Butterfly Girl! Are you still here?”
She jumped up, elated. He came back! Her friend had returned!
She ran as fast as she could towards where he was calling, Zebra Swallowtails trailing behind her.
A grin spread across his face when he saw her, and he waved. She waved back, taking a moment to catch her breath. He had come back. His eyes widened as he looked at the trail of wings drifting behind her. She spoke one more Zebra Swallowtail towards him.
“Woah! Look at the colors on that one!” Laughter echoed through the wood as he reached for it, and it dodged his fingers.
A smile broke out on her face and in her heart. A warmth spread across her chest. Pride at her gift and the wonder it could evoke.
“Let’s play tag. You’re It first. Try and catch me.” And just like that Jack was on his way traipsing through the brush.
In this way, the two children played until the sound of Jack’s mother calling rippled over the tree line. Then he would leave with a wave and a goodbye thrown over his shoulder, and the girl would wave back and wait for him to return the next afternoon. She would tell the oak and the flowers and the rabbits, robins, and ravens all about her new friend and their adventures together. About the time they went swimming in the river and he taught her how to skip rocks across its surface. She taught him to catch the crustaceans that hid under the large rocks and laughed when he got his thumb pinched by the king crayfish.
She told them about the time they raced up the big oak tree, and she beat him by a whole minute. “You’re the fastest climber I’ve ever seen,” he said when he reached the top, trying to catch his breath. And about the one time he’d run through a patch of nettles that left his arms and legs covered in nasty little red bumps. She had run through the woods until she found the plant that she’d been looking for, the one whose leaves turned metallic under river water. She took handfuls of the leaves and tore them up, then patted them up and down his hurt arms and legs. How he’d smiled up at her. “Thanks, Butterfly Girl. That’s much better.”
And so the days passed and the children played and the seasons wore on until the leaves on the trees grew crisp and colorful. The days grew shorter, the nights grew colder, and the boy began coming for shorter and shorter time, less and less often.
“Sorry, Butterfly Girl. We’re always busy during harvesting season.”
The butterfly girl smiled for him and said a couple of the prettiest words she could think of, letting him know it was okay. The breeze was especially rambunctious that day. And so the two children began to play with it, chasing and catching the leaves that had been caught up in its mischief. They each gathered up a bouquet of burnt orange and burgundy leaves. The tall trees creaked a reprimand to the wind as it rushed through them. Jack threw the leaves back to the breeze and the girl did the same, and they watched the leaves twist and twirl on the gale.
Jack shivered. “Don’t you ever get cold living out here?”
She looked at his flushed face and shook her head. Whenever the weather grew harsh or decided to have a temper the woods took care of her. Her walls grew thicker and the cool ground sprouted thick carpets of moss.
The wind whipped her words away before they could be enjoyed. Jack shivered again.
“Well, I do. I think I’m going to head back home.”
The girl cast a worried look towards where his farmhouse stood, noting the absence of his mother’s call.
The boy reached over and patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Butterfly Girl. I’ll come back tomorrow.” He stood to go. “And next time I’ll bring my thickest coat.”
But when the girl awoke the next morning a pristine layer of snow lay over every woodland surface. She breathed a sigh of wonder at the beauty and her breath stretched forth like smoky fern tendrils. She fingered them and laughed, admiring the way the purple butterflies were made more vibrant by the snowy backdrop. She brushed apart her ivy curtains, now encased in ice, and savored the tinkling music that resounded.
She spent the day traipsing through the drifts and making a chain of angels in the blanket of snow. She broke off an icicle hanging from a heavy-ladened sapling and licked it until it melted and disappeared. She traced pictures in the snow on the frozen river and crunched through the crystallized grass. The butterfly girl may have been born in autumn, but she loved the snow. And by the end of the day, the white winter trees were jeweled with blue, purple, and orange wings frozen into place.
The boy didn’t return for the next few days. Loneliness began to creep back into the girl’s bones. She followed the trails of animal prints in the snow to bunny burrows and groundhog holes. But no one wanted to come out and play. She checked on the robins in their nests, but they were too busy keeping warm to sing with her. The woods were quiet save for the howls that echoed in the evenings.
The wolves had returned as they were wont to do when food was scarce deeper in the hilly countryside. Their ghostly music sent shivers down her shoulders. She let out a howl of her own and watched the fuzzy Fairy Moth flit across her fingertips.
She set her mind on what she and Jack would do once he returned. She couldn’t wait to show him the icicle cave she had discovered. She hoped they wouldn’t melt before he came to play with her again.
She thought up a lovely new word to show him when he did return. She focused on the joy of the first snow and formed her mouth around the feeling until it flew from her lips. Its wings were a deep shade of green, checkered with diamonds of gold. She couldn’t wait to show it to Jack and watch the wonder wash over his face.
Finally after days of waiting she heard him calling through the trees.
“Butterfly Girl! I’m back!”
She rushed to where he was, a huge smile alighting on her face. She spoke her new word to him and sure enough, his eyes grew round, and he laughed out loud.
“That’s beautiful, Butterfly Girl! I’ve never seen anything like that before!”
Her smile widened, and she felt her cheeks grow warm under his praise.
“I’ve been stuck in the house for days. Let’s play tag!” He reached out and poked her arm. “You’re It!”
He ran through the woods and she followed. He was fast, but she knew these woods. She reached forward and tapped his back, a Red Admiral landing on his brown woolen coat.
Then she shrieked colorful trails through the woods. Jack laughed at the joy of the chase. He caught up and pushed her gently on the back. “You’re it again!” And he was gone.
She ran behind and tripped over a twisted root hidden in the snow. She fell onto her backside, laughing a purple stream into the air. The butterflies flew up, and she watched as they joined flocks of birds flying through the treetops.
Flocks of birds? She listened as they squawked away together. A crease formed between the girl’s eyebrows. The forest had grown silent after the flood of fowl had disappeared, save for the sound of the boy laughing and taunting deeper in the woods. The air felt icy and alert. Goosebumps spread down her arms. She stood up and ran down the path his footprints had left in the snow.
Then she noticed a pair of paw prints join his. Red wings of alert flew out of her mouth as she raced even faster towards him. Eventually, the paw prints circled up through the woods. She could hear him still laughing. Then she could see him running up ahead. She tried to call out a warning again, but her little words couldn’t keep up and trailed off behind her as she ran.
Finally, she caught up to him. The butterflies were a steady stream now. She reached out and grabbed him. He turned towards her, and when he saw the streams rushing from her mouth his eyes lit up.
“Wow!”
She shook him, pleading with him to understand. To look at her face and see there was danger. Red wings, brown wings, black wings.
But her sweet words had trapped his attention, and his eyes lingered on the beautiful beasts flowing from her mouth. “They’re beautiful, Butterfly Girl.”
She saw movement behind him. A pair of yellow eyes slink around the tree at his back.
Panic.
Purple wings, blue wings, red wings, red wings, red, yellow, orange, blue, green. Please turn around. Monarchs, Swallowtails, Moths of every shape and size and color. Please run.
But the boy only laughed.
And the wolf leapt.
Some say she was born with the gift to speak butterflies. Others are wiser.
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Maleah Dancer lives in New Mexico with her husband and puppy dog, Kaz. She spends her time consuming stories and coffee in equal measure, hiking in the mountains, and playing board games with her lifelong best friend, aka hubby.
© 2023, Maleah Dancer
Halfway Down the Stairs 