Wings for Predator

This is a story written in ancient times, read by the upcoming one. A glory of life and death—when they curl their fingers together, chasing facts. The heart raced multiple times, yet it ended up making one beat altogether.

Haze, a beautiful butterfly—her wings shone with the flowers she might have sucked on. The color she gained, the petals imprinted on her wings in the bright light—sun dancing in rhythm, unsung. A heart of fairies and a soul belonging to the wind. So captivating that even paradise fills itself with hundreds of her. The little butterfly—yet an insect—so was Haze, the little Haze.

But he who has delved into tales of love, particularly in the twilight of life, would have witnessed the bird’s fatal allure: she falls in love with her own arrow and yields to its piercing heart.

Just as the sharpness of the arrow does not blunt the love of the bird.

In an isolated realm, where shadows burned the earth, Kairos, a lizard, crawled in the essence of the land. His scales seemed to absorb the faint light, radiating an aura of evilness. With each step, he left an indelible mark, his tail a threatening banner proclaiming his dominance. Unyielding and merciless, Kairos’s heart pulsed with a hellish rhythm, his spirit forged from the very depths of the underworld.

It was a cheerful morning, just like any other. You could hear the birds chirping and the sun blooming. Unaware of the tragedy of life that was going to fall into her lap, Haze wandered from flower to flower, collecting the secrets of blooming essence and coloring her wings.

Unnoticed in her own whimsy, she flew—fluttering her wings—colors collected from ages past brightened by the sun’s warm rays. It was a moment, just as they say—love at first sight. A glimpse, an attraction that ignited.

Her eyes met the creeping figure on land, often deemed ugly by many, but what her eyes saw, nobody else could see. She settled on a leaf, gazing at him with all her might. Every detail, every scale on his body captivated her, and she found herself getting trapped. Love, in its own tragic beauty, unaware of its cause—yet she couldn’t look away.

Love filled the air, and when it touched her heart, it was suddenly everywhere. The vibrant colors of her wings, once so vivid, now paled in comparison to the delight she found in his greys. She longed to be his, to surrender to his world, just as the ancient colors would fade, leaving only his grey. They say that to the sky, the shadow is love, and that bright and dark remain eternally intimate.

Once love has bloomed, does the story of tragedy become alluring? Does she not know that love is just an allusion in tales? That unknown, powerful feeling is indescribable—it comes with surrendering, accepting, sacrificing, and so much more. A feeling that even made death itself a dream.

Little Haze, how long will she sit on a leaf and stare, trying to be satisfied? It’s a greed to get closer—a greed for more. But the heart has no brain, and when love speaks, every voice is suppressed. She couldn’t think straight; she couldn’t let the feeling fade, even if it would end her—that’s what she said.

She left the leaf in her own realm; love is indeed an addiction, bonded by the lust that craves intimacy, to be close. And when the urge begins, it's unstoppable, unsettling, hypnotizing. She went closer to him, closer to her death, coated in the fur of honey, yet she was blind. Blind or stupid, she didn't care; it was a magical curse, the strongest potion ever made. The wind was in rhythm, and she couldn't hear anything. Just as he looked at her, when their eyes met, butterflies' wings started flapping – you know how the heart skips a beat – but this time, it beat uncontrollably, like it would explode, and no force in the world could stop it.

The love of her life was a cherry-coated, sugary knife. He looked at her with a mysterious yet calm, beautifully mystical. Haze couldn't control herself; his eyes were inviting. Soon, they began to communicate—no words were spoken, but he flirted, and she could feel it. It was enough to drive her mad. He looked at her, almost teasing, making empty promises that stole her breath. She circled around him, danced, played, teased. Maybe that’s what they call foreplay.

Haze and Kairos—love in the moment, eternal despite its fleeting nature. She felt him. She wanted him. She craved him—even if it meant being devoured.

Love had grown so thick between them, to the point it became uncontrollable—an igniting force that couldn't be ignored. And really, could anyone blame Ramta and Jogi? He asked her to come closer, and she did. How could she say no to the love of her life? Even if he asked her to serve herself on a plate, she would. Because she was his—even if he wasn’t hers. She sat closer, resting on his nose, fully aware that his tongue could take her in at any moment. Still, she decided to trust him. She believed in him. And she told herself it wouldn’t hurt. Even if he consumed her, she would still be happy—forever. To her, death by his hand wasn’t a tragedy.

As she sat on his nose, inches from his eyes, she stared deeply into them. There was no more movement—only a strange stillness, and a silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Nothing was said. But his eyes held something vast—like an ocean of love. Her tears didn’t fall. They simply stayed, frozen by the weight of the moment. Then, slowly, he extended his tongue. As it touched her skin, she didn’t hesitate. She didn’t move. She didn’t run. “I’m all his,” she thought. “In his eyes… that’s the last reflection of me I’ll ever see.” Soon, her wings were inside his mouth. Then her whole body. She was inside. Her eyes closed. It was dark. But no... she was no more.

As I swallowed her inside me, there were no tears in my eyes, no glimpse of regret. I know I seem cruel. I am. We all are, by nature. I saw her fly—a wiggle of my tail, and swiftly, she was an easy prey. I saw her as she sat on the leaf. I knew she was staring. I trapped her because she was getting allured, drawn closer to me, so that I could engulf her. I knew it.

Hate me if you want, but I know one day I too will be prey. What if, now, I’m a predator?

From a young larva, to caterpillar, to mother, to bird—she fought, she lived. It was never about survival, was it? The last color I witnessed wasn’t her wings, but in her eyes—red, blue—until it became white. All shades of love, and nothing.

It’s a treasure to die in love—an elite price, a booned yet cursed choice.

Even for a moment, even with lies, Haze and Kairos’ love existed and always will, even if she won’t.

Did he love her? Who knows.

But the last words Kairos said on his deathbed were:

“We can’t really help who we are.”

Sheikhalia~

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