"It flutters through the air, getting the odor……" — Naquitta Faith
"It flutters through the air, getting the odor of rotting flesh. It's wings drip with dark as night blood. It lands on the head of the Lord.'Why must you?' it questioned. The lord says says nothing. It flies away and rests on a thorn bush. A rose suddenly pops out, and swallows the black butterfly. It's blood rips from the rose. Years pass, and a child comes upon the same rose. He reaches out to it, and pitch black blood drips out. The child steps back. A force suddenly pushes him in the bush. The child is now missing."
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