You eat the larva out of necessity—protein, strength, survival. Maybe even the hope of learning something from the life you take. Its body bursts with bitter saltiness, the taste of grass, soil, and wind filling your mouth. Rich, complex… meaningful. The taste of life. Then your stomach twists. Nausea surges. You nearly spit it out. 🐛

The world wavers.

Darkness blooms, broken by a single radiant shape.

A towering moth stands before you, glowing in the void. Her body is thick with layered white fluff, her wings wide like luminous cracked parchment. Her masklike face and huge dark eyes stare down with stern disappointment. Furred, three-fingered hands rest sharply on her waist—judgment made flesh.

Her firm feminine voice echoes:

Are you going to spit me out… young one? 🦋

She steps forward, wings shifting like petals of light.

Because of you I’ll never be able to develop into this form… 🦋