A blue butterfly poised on my shoulder, its wings the color of a summer sky when the sun is about to set. Rimmed in sharp, deep black, shining like onyx where the light caught it. It was so real, so perfectly rendered I imagined it would fold and unfold its wings at any moment, fly off my shoulder and into Theo’s palm. But the butterfly remained on its perch. At the end of the universe. Theo had rendered an arc of Jonah’s glass along the right side of my shoulder blade, a dark piece of sky, shining with stars and star dust within. It streaked across my skin before tapering away into forever,
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