The Origins of the Night Butterflies

The Legend of the Night Butterflies

Artemis, goddess of the hunt, strode through her moonlit courtyard, nodding at the occasional handmaiden clad in a starry toga, reflecting the elegance of the night. Her handmaidens were preparing for war, war against a god looking to unleash chaos throughout the cosmos.

Her handmaidens were skillful and loyal warriors. Gifted eternal youth by the goddess herself, if somehow a warrior were to fall she would not perish but turn into a night butterfly, still able to flit through the woods alongside her beloved goddess. The butterflies had wings as breathtaking as Aphrodite herself, as starry and dark as the night. Instead of fluttering in the sun among meadows and flowers, they were shy, sticking to the shadows unless they were lured away.

The handmaidens of Artemis bore weapons crafted from pure silver, glinting as they walked alongside the goddess, whom they would follow to the ends of the earth. Artemis led those followers to a colossal clearing where the warriors of the night came face to face with enemies of the underworld. Their foes brought with them the unmistakable stench of death. Their leader was clad in armour, revealing only burning dark eyes set on destruction.

The enemies charged and the battle began.

Artemis fought with only the magic she held in her fingertips, but she could hear beside her the clanging of armour and clashing of swords as her handmaidens met in combat with the undead minions of Hades. The god of death himself strode confidently to stare into Artemis's eyes.

"So you think you can beat me," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Shall we see for ourselves?" Artemis challenged.

Without further ado, Hades and Artemis broke into battle. The fight was so all-consuming that Artemis did not have the time to lend so much as an eye to her comrades, and had she tried to do so, she knew, Hades would not have hesitated to kill her on the spot. The battle raged on, warriors from both sides dropping too fast to count. Finally Artemis held her shining blade of night at Hades' throat. She knew she could never kill him, as he held the same status of immortality as her, but she could injure him beyond recognition.

And so she did.

Cries of agony echoed through the moonlit field. Golden ichor flowed from the defeated God, and he held none of his former glory, tattered and wounded. Artemis staggered away from  Hades. But this was a mistake as well, for now she faced a meadow of fallen warriors.The night butterflies flowed around her last remaining warriors. The two women stared at the goddess, silently begging for mercy. Tears rolled down their cheeks, their delicate features contorted in agony. Right in front of her loyal warriors, Artemis shattered. She fell to her knees, her body racked with sobs.

"I'm so sorry," the goddess whispered. The two girls faintly smiled and slowly tilted their heads to the night sky, closing their tired eyes. The night butterflies circled more violently until the two women were seemingly gone. From the center of the group, two butterflies soared out, their violet wings beating the air with eternal grace. They flitted playfully over to the torn goddess. One landed on her knee, the other on her shoulder, and Artemis heard a rush of faint whispers, whispers of forgiveness. And with that, all the butterflies scattered into the night, replacing the stars with their elegant luminescence.