Read Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe, Vol. I for Free Online

many wonderful days together, slowly realizing that they
were, if not birds of a feather, at least insects of a shape. The
butterfly cared a lot about the moth and often tried to cheer it
up. She tried to keep it from being sad about its dull brown nature
Normally it worked flawlessly, and the moth fluttered about, happy
enough on his own at night. He needed only momentary cheering from
the butterfly every now and then. The moth was joyful, for it too
had a special purpose there, without it the night flowers, of which
there were many, would be all alone, and eventually be no more at
all. The moth did not sleep, he felt no need to in that mystic
orchard; he thought too much about the butterfly. When time to
sleep came he would find the tall wakeful plant, and rub his wings
against its powdery stem. At night the moth was the garden's king;
the best, brightest, biggest, most beautiful of the all nocturnal
insects. It was his kingdom, yet he was uninterested in its
governance.
    During the day, the moth
plotted and schemed, though he was joyful he could not bear the
butterfly's beauty much longer. She was green and stunning, a
floating gem, and what was he? A discarded cloth, jerkily blown by
wind's cold currents, that's what. He hid beneath well skirted
plants conspiring, he would sort it all out, soon enough. He too
wanted to be emerald green, beloved and beholden by all.
    He was particularly upset
when the butterfly spoke to the beautiful flowers. He feared that
whatever he might do the butterfly would find someone or something
better and more beautiful than he. The butterfly saw these tinges
and joked with the moth that perhaps he should be green instead of
her. Normally that sufficed to raise his spirits. She cared for the
month, deeply so, but those comments terrorized his soul. He never
told her, but they haunted him, with waking dreams of his own
transformation into a green jewel. He despaired at being unable to
be himself. At least, the moth thought, at least he would have her.
But this too was frustrated, for the butterfly knew that she was
destined to be free. She knew that separate species could never
mate, and so that they could never be.
    One day the moth could
take no more. He remembered the butterfly's taunt — that he be
green instead of her. He would. He would show her, he would be the
green one, he would be one everyone loved. Finally, he would be the
one everyone looked at. He knew how too. He would take her green,
then she would see the torment he endured, let her try to be happy
then. No other green would suffice, no other green was as beautiful
or as heartrendingly intense as hers. Sadly, the moth was more
cruel than he was dumb. The moth found a rose, the most beautiful
of all which bore the sharpest of thorns. He carefully snapped them
off, giving the rose a thick coat instead, one spun from
caterpillar thread so that it might finally hug its friends without
hurting them, a fair trade for both.
    As the butterfly slept,
the moth flew to her. He ignored the night plants and went to start
his wretched misdeed instead. He took a thorn, and slowly cut a
green section from the butterfly's wings with it. He winced as he
cut a similar section from his own. He momentarily realised the
panels above him, like pieces of stained church glass, then
carefully swapped them in. Impatient, he flew to a drop and to
check his reflection in its aqueous aether. Oh wow. Oh heavens.
Finally, he began to be beautiful. The moth took one more look to
make sure it was real, then flew back quick to continue his
villainy. The green panel felt strange in his wings, it was much
lighter than his heavy brown scales. The moth worked to control his
flight, he found the imbalance troubling. He wondered if it was
right to do this, but he didn't wonder long, for soon he was back
by the butterfly and beautylust which drove him mad set in once
more.
    And so he cut, and cut,
and cut again. When half her wings became half his, half the night
had