....He laughed again, calmly as if he were amused. Perhaps by her.
The small butterfly looked in front of her, the dead wings on the stone wall.
“You, that gave everything a reason,” she whispered, “tell me why are you doing all this?”
But the king probably didn’t hear her words, for he didn’t laugh at all.
...
After only some time, he moved silently towards the window. He leaned to the front; far below, his multi-coloured gardens were discernible. Suffused with butterflies’ wings...
He started to speak; more to the wind than to his small prisoner. “...Most of them...” he said, recalling what he had shared with them... Years now...
“...Most of them will never reach that chamber.
At least, as long as they can still fly.”
“Some among them, are totally indifferent to me...
The shape and the colour of their wings, never filled my eyes...
They will fade away and perish in the corridors of my garden. And it will be as if they’ve lived not for a moment.”
“Others again, made no difficulty for me.
They sank into the nectar that I offered them and found enough getting their whole life drunk on it.”
“Finally, among them, there are also some other butterflies...”
“Some –maybe a few, maybe a lot, I don’t remember any longer– that once reached this chamber. That irrationally thought they could resist me.
But they also had to choose some day... Death in a single moment.
Or the extension of an everlasting life.”
“You know what they chose.
What you will also choose some day... It couldn’t be any different.”
“Look at them now!
They fly in my garden. They fly near me and they are