My ∆ Butterfly

1. And bones that can be broken

"I'll take the bullet for you, you know that!"

- "You are immortal for good's sake, it doesn't count!"

- Shelly, from 'My Butterfly'

****

dedicated to 

Shelly'POV

The keys click, and I feel the heat in the large, grey corridor of the prison. God, I spent two years within these walls and somehow feel empty when I leave.

Although it sounds stupid, it is true.

Sonja is at the reception, her black hair neatly tied in a bun on top of her head. She drinks coffee and fills out papers."Oh, it's someone's birthday today!" She exclaims with excitement as if she is being released from prison and not me.

"Would you like me to leave you some pieces of cake?" I say smugly, leaving my uniform on the counter. Sonja laughed, her shrill laughter filled the waiting room. "Don't leave without a present!" She says, pulling out a black bag from under the table and handing it to me. It's not really my birthday, let's face it. It's some prison slang, that's what you say when someone leaves prison.

"Thank you, Sonja!" I say, I take the black bag to remind me of what I brought with me when they took me out of the hotel room on the first day. The first thing I saw was a long, golden necklace with a dove pendant. I smiled bitterly, I knew exactly who this gift was from.

From him...

I push those thoughts somewhere far into my subconscious and listen as the high, barbed fence of St. Lennon Prison finally closes behind me.

And with her another bitter chapter of my life.

It's ten o'clock in the morning, and my legs are wobbly and shaking in my sneakers. I expected my body to rebel even before I was released. In prison, the only things you wear for two years are plastic slippers and black work boots, and if you can't afford slippers in the canteen, then you have to make them.

A prison bathroom is not exactly the epitome of cleanliness. You can catch all kinds of diseases if you go there barefoot.

I had to sit down, now my heart started to rebel, the fresh air in the city and the fresh air in the courtyard of a closed space are two different things. Cars rush by and I try to remember where things are in New York. I see a small pawnshop just across the street from St. Nicholas Park where I was sitting.

I was all the way in Hamilton Heights, Manhattanville.

I got about 800 dollars for two wristwatches, a ring, and a bracelet. That'll be enough for a hotel room and a prepaid phone until I can figure it out. The worst thing is that I can't remember any number at all. I can't call the ones I know by heart. Two betrayed me, and one put me in prison, what an irony, isn't it?

They say love, and emotions are like a prison, once they capture you, it's hard to break free. God seems to have a good sense of humor as he took it literally for me.

***

Somewhere in the South of France, in Nice

With its broad avenues, wide sweeping bay, and golden beach. Sheltered by beautiful hills, the mansion stood there as if the surrounding nature had embraced it, that the flora flowed within it as much as around it. For the architect had loved the trees so much that there was a mighty oak in the center, centuries old, and the great house had been built around it.

Samuel was an aristocratic vampire with an empire of victims to suck blood from. He had no use for personal reflection and so in the mirror, he saw none. His life purpose was empty of all but greed, domination, and lust. Were he to see the most perfect of roses, he would only find purpose in the thorns.

"You didn't seriously...?"

"Yep."

"You just...?"

"Yep."

"Does that mean...?"

"Quite probably."

Nathalia sighs

"I'll get the shovel."

Samuel peeks through the open door of the library listening to the meeting in the hall.

Who did he kill now?

Samuel thought, he put the book back on the shelf and went out into the hall. A tall blonde with a thin waist and piercing eyes glared at him. Next to her stood a man with short white hair and narrow eyes in the color of the rising sun. They all had the same color of eyes, to be honest, it has to be one of the Vampire's signature looks.

"Who did you kill Nathaniel?"

Samuel asks, leaning against the double doors in the hallway that led to the mansion's grave dining room. Nathaniel shook his head, obviously guilty. He started to speak but the blonde stopped him.

"We have to move again! Our brother here," she said, gesturing at the gray-haired boy, "Kill the whole village because he can't control himself! The question is when the peasants will be at our necks!" She answered. The boy next to her protested, but she looked at him sideways and he remained silent.

"It's okay Ruby, we'll talk! I think New York is pretty busy this time of year!" Samuel said, rubbing his upper arm as he thought about transferring them to another country.

The book was a simple earthy-hued cover, warming to the eyes, and comforting. After all these years it was soft to the touch and the edges had a similar look to some beloved teddy bear. Inside the pages looked as if they had bathed in golden rays and taken in.

Samuel gently ran his hands over something inside and sadness danced on his pale face, yes, sadness. For vampires, every emotion, even the smallest one, was reflected ten times more than with a human. Everything they would feel would be clearly seen, but only if they allow it. All vampires have been good at deception, it's something they probably pick up and practice over their years of existence.

It was an old photograph.

She looked worn, sun-bleached, and damaged by time around the edges. On it was a girl, from under long blonde bangs shone eyes the color of wet earth, and below that, a nose so freckled that the brown splotches overlapped much like fall leaves after a wind storm. Her smile was warm with a hint of shyness.

In the end, in Samuel's head, everyone is made of flesh that can be cut, and bones that can be broken.

Was he?