11-14-2025, 01:16 PM
Cold hits her first. Snow drifts in a slow, white hush across the winter meadow, settling on her back, melting against her still-warm skin. Her breath fogs the air, sharp enough to sting, and she stands trembling because she remembers dying. She remembers teeth pulling her apart, mud filling her lungs, the river stitching her back together with lilies and water and pain. She should not be standing. She should not be breathing. And yet here she is.
She blinks hard, trying to anchor herself. The labyrinth’s shadows still cling to her thoughts, but the world feels too vivid to ignore. Her skin is softer than memory, her mane threaded with faint luminescent strands of neon green that catch the pale light like wandering fireflies. The lilies between her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes, quiet and eerily calm, as if they have always been part of her.
It’s strange to feel changed but still carry the echo of who she was. A familiar shape held together by something new. She presses a hoof into the snow, feeling it crunch and crumble beneath her weight. Solid. Cold. Real. For a moment, she lets relief settle into her bones.
Then a flutter stirs behind her.
She freezes as panic fires down her limbs, sinking into the pit of her stomach. The movement isn’t wind. And to her surprise—it’s her. Neon green butterfly wings unfurl just above her tail, enormous and delicate, swaying like a living ribbon. When she inhales, they lift. When fear ripples through her, they tremble.
A thin, unsteady laugh slips out, half in wonder and half in disbelief. “I’m… different.”
The beetle brand on her shoulder answers with a sudden hot pulse, pain burrowing deep through barely healed flesh. She gasps, the sharpness grounding her all over again. Not a dream. Not mercy. A mark that will never let her forget what happened in the maze and what she has become.
She looks down at the snow, watching her breath feather across its surface, her pulse echoing in her throat. “I don’t know what I am now..” she hushes beneath her breath.
She blinks hard, trying to anchor herself. The labyrinth’s shadows still cling to her thoughts, but the world feels too vivid to ignore. Her skin is softer than memory, her mane threaded with faint luminescent strands of neon green that catch the pale light like wandering fireflies. The lilies between her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes, quiet and eerily calm, as if they have always been part of her.
It’s strange to feel changed but still carry the echo of who she was. A familiar shape held together by something new. She presses a hoof into the snow, feeling it crunch and crumble beneath her weight. Solid. Cold. Real. For a moment, she lets relief settle into her bones.
Then a flutter stirs behind her.
She freezes as panic fires down her limbs, sinking into the pit of her stomach. The movement isn’t wind. And to her surprise—it’s her. Neon green butterfly wings unfurl just above her tail, enormous and delicate, swaying like a living ribbon. When she inhales, they lift. When fear ripples through her, they tremble.
A thin, unsteady laugh slips out, half in wonder and half in disbelief. “I’m… different.”
The beetle brand on her shoulder answers with a sudden hot pulse, pain burrowing deep through barely healed flesh. She gasps, the sharpness grounding her all over again. Not a dream. Not mercy. A mark that will never let her forget what happened in the maze and what she has become.
She looks down at the snow, watching her breath feather across its surface, her pulse echoing in her throat. “I don’t know what I am now..” she hushes beneath her breath.