WHISPERS OF A BUTTERFLY • Kamisato Ayato

epilogue.

The estate is quiet in the late morning, when all the work receives its tranquil standstill. The peace it provides is both relaxing and disquieting. It never feels right, until the first person takes the perpetual swing with their words. Soon enough, the sound of fighting fills the air, and breaks the silence.

"You disgust me. I'm embarrassed to my core I have to call you my family!"

"Oh, I'm the disgusting one? At least I do my duties as the heir. You're nothing but a lowly, good-for-nothing leech, sticking to me to make yourself look good!"

"That's not true," the sound of a voice breaking, cracking like a shattered vase, fills the air with devoid sadness. "That's not true, and you know it."

A frustrated scoff. A twinge of guilt.

Footsteps patter against the polished floor, and the door slides open to the courtyard, where you are humming a song as you paint calligraphy on old scrolls as though the sound is merely black noise.

A pair of small hands grabs your yukata sleeve and shakes it vigorously, like waving a flag. You relent and turn to look at the boy, tears in his eyes. The inky brush falls into the saucer as you hold your arms out and let him crawl into your lap.

"Mom," he sniffles into your torso, "she was mean to me again."

"She didn't mean it," you say. "And by the way, everyone can hear you fighting. I know you've said some mean things to her too."

"I know, but—" Akihiko lets a tear run down his face. "It's just that she doesn't like me."

"Honey, your sister loves you."

"Yeah, but she doesn't like me," he says stubbornly. "I don't know why."

"Who said the first mean thing?" you ask.

He mumbles under his breath. "Me. I'm sorry."

You sigh and pat his head. "Don't say sorry to me. Sometimes we don't know what we say when we are angry. That doesn't mean we don't know how to love our family."

"Auntie Ayaka and Dad never fight," he says.

"Ah, but your father and I do," you say, smiling.

Your son laughs at this. You gaze at him, love flowing freely. His pale blue hair is growing past his ears. His silky kimono is already disheveled even though Thoma had ironed it many times before. You ruffle his head.

"Alright. Go apologize to her, and make sure it's sincere," you said, tapping his tiny nose. "I'm positive she will welcome you with open arms."

You send him off with a kiss on the forehead. He nods enthusiastically and practically runs back inside the house. You hear his footsteps disappear down the corridor.

You glance at the sky. Spring is in full bloom and the ponds are rich with healthy koi fish. You begin to pack up your calligraphy materials, yearning to feel a fan cooling you.

Just then, you feel a cool breeze hit your nape. You look up to see Ayato holding your fan, standing over you with a tiny smile on his face.

"Husband," you greet.

"Wife," he says. It's become a running game for you to refer to each other as only that when your children aren't around. He bends down to kiss your cheek and sits cross-legged to examine your artwork. "Pretty papers."

"Boring papers," you say.

"Not as boring as the stacks in our offices," he shoots back.

"If that's what you want to believe."