I like killing butterflies for sport. I mean that figuratively. But as I grabbed my bow and aimed at my target, I realized I wasn't looking at a butterfly. What appears before me is a larva, a caterpillar, a pre-mature version of a butterfly. It looked at me with its twelve silent eyes, hammering my stone cold heart.
And just like that, I let it live.
And just like that, I let it live.
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