Faestien woke up in his soft, large, royal silk bed.
His blue eyes was full of sparkling dusts, vestiges of the former island that he was it. It as large and further magnified by the eminent fear and confusion resonating within him. He felt like a pupa that had just left his chrysalis, stabilizing himself as much as he can yet faltering nonetheless.
The world caved in and out, he looked at his hands as if they should have been filled with blood.
He had chosen to cut off with his pairs. His wings, the ones that gave him freedom. He saw two butterflies came by his window, one cabbage white and one purple emperor, and he reached to grab them. Desperately, with wild begging eyes...
Only to tear their wings in the process, killing them instantly.
