They told her the forest blooms brightest after the sun has gone. That the butterflies of light, rare as breath on glass, appear only to those who walk with quiet hearts. She hadn’t meant to go far. Just a step beyond the familiar trail.
When the usual path bent away beneath her feet, she didn’t follow. Something deeper called her forward, with a sort of certainty of something waiting to be found. With each step, the forest shifted. It was as if the trail was writing itself into the earth ahead of her, responding to her presence.
The air around her felt charged with quiet invitation, and the little butterflies that started to float resembled discovery — the kind that only exists the moment it’s gently touched.
She doesn’t know what lies ahead. But tonight, she isn’t a passenger of wonder. Tonight, she walks as its guide.