The small butterfly sat on a green-leafed tree, enjoying the sunny day in the forest and humming a simple, sweet tune to himself as he wrote in his journal. One of his cult members had recommended journaling as a good way to be organized- and as a cult leader, Shrignold definitely didn't have time for disorder.

"Hm.. I wonder if I have anything to write about today. I could write another poem about Malcolm. Maybe a reminder to feed him gravel tonight? We wouldn't want Malcolm to be angry!"