Westlynn sent to me a gift. Something gathered from the
new lands, I estimate. It is a butterfly with iridescent, shiny blue wings pressed
into a glass pane. I am not certain if she sent it because she simply thought I
would approve, or if there is something else.
Things have changed.
Knowing what I do and what I do not know, and the
intersection wherein all the risk resides. What mattered little, what mattered
none, and how delicate we all are.
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