The dead girls room was covered in butterflies.

Most of them hand-drawn, other stickers. They had found them on sticky notes, doodle in corners or pages of pages of notes from school, on her dead body in all the places she could reach. Names were doodled nearby, these little butterflies doodled nearby these little rainbows of creatures – Aria, Hazel, Mary, Will, Evangeline – all in their own different colors for red to purple, with the exception of green. All the butterflies looked the same – with the same swooping pattern made by a hand well practiced and familiar that was used to making them again and again.

A little voice had called 911 – a little thing, no older than five. It was, in fact, the same little voice that was right in front of her now, swinging his feet in typical childish fashion.

"Is Zuwee alwight?" The little boy inquired the moment she had walked in, clipboard in hand. In his hand was a lollipop – a bright, lime green. Some other officer must've given it to him to make sure he didn't walk downstairs and see his dead sister being shoved in a body bag.

He was too young to be interviewed. This was pointless. What could she learn from him? He was too young.

"Is Zuri your sister?" she inquired – even though she already knew the answer. Either way, she glanced at her clipboard, confirming the name. Zuri Zelena. The dead girl.

He nodded, green lollipop in mouth, his small, little green sneakers swinging under the legs of the massive wooden chair he was now sitting in – his tiny toddler-sized feet not even close to touching the ground. Swinging back and forth. So innocent.

So ignorant.

"What's your name?"

"Max," his little boy was very little indeed, shyness pushing him deeper into his chair, lollipop in his mouth as an excuse not to say anything further.

"Hello Max. My name is Kara," she stated, forcing a smile that she hoped looked genuine. Warm. Friendly. "Is it okay if I ask you some questions?"

Max nodded again, slower this time - thinking – curiousity making it's jovial path across his small, youthful cheeks and up to his large green eyes, glowing in the faint light from the lamp.

She wondered what those same eyes would look like when he found out about his sister.

"Do you know why your sister draws butterflies?"

"The Butterfwy Pwoject," he answered easily, little legs swinging. Still swinging. "Zuwee let me name one. The gween one. I nameded him Coffee. I like gween," he finshed, rambling before shoving his green orb back into his mouth and receding back into the sanctuary of the large chair, but not far enough as to stop his feet from swinging.

"So the two of you named the butterflies."

"Yeah."

"Why did you guys name the butterflies?"

"So that the Butterfwies would pwotect her."

She frowned. Was there an abuser in the family that she needed to be concerned about? "Protect her from what?"

Pause. "I dunno," Max said lightly enough, but his feet slowly swung to a stop. He slipped the green lollipop into his mouth almost sheepishly. "She always had wed lines," he continued once he pulled the lime green lollipop out of his mouth. "On her wist and arms." Max held out his forearms in demonstration. "She always tolded me that the Butterfwies would pwotect her as as long as they was there, she couldn't hurt."

Pause. "Couldn't hurt or couldn't be hurt?"

Max almost seemed to be crumpling in on himself, his little mouth opening and closing without making a sound. He looked confused as if he didn't quite understand the difference in what I was asking. "I...I dunno." Silence. "But Zuwee tolded me that she loved Coffee the most. Coffee is gween. He is the bestest one. And he's gween." He popped the lollipop back in his mouth, large green eyes fixed on his sneakers, a pleased smile on his face from the memory.

"Tell me about the names. You said you helped her name the butterflies, right?"

Bright green eyes on an angelic face, slowly growing dark with defeated sadness. "Only Coffee," Max remarked sadly, shaking his head, short blond curls moving left and right, back and forth. His legs had picked up again, swinging along to some invisible tune. Back and forth, back and forth. "She said it was the wrules."

"What are the rules?"

"Umm.. I don't wemember."

"That's okay," she said, smiling politely. "Did anyone else name the butterflies?"

"Mommy nameded one and Daddy nameded one too but they donut know," Max giggled, holding the lime green lollipop, considerably smaller now. "She twicked them and I had to twy weally weally hawd not to laugh,"

"Do you remember the names they chose?"

Swinging back to a pause once more, while Max thought about it. "Mommy chooseded a weally long name. I dunno it. But Daddy's was easy. He chooseded Mary." The swinging resumed.

The names next to the butterflies? If those were the butterflies, then where was Coffee? There was no green butterfly.

"Thanks, Max," she stated, getting to her feet. "You've been a lot of help."

"But what 'bout Zuwee?" he asked, tears welling up in his big green eyes.

"What about Zuri?"

"Is she alwight?"

In most cases, lying to a kid is wrong. But she didn't feel like It was her place to tell him the truth.

"She's fine."

"What 'bout the Butterfwies?"

"The butterflies?"

"Is the Butterfwies okay too?"

"Yeah," she said, heading towards the door.

"Coffee too?"

"Yes, him too," she said absently, leaving Max behind on the large wooden chair. His green lollipop almost finished, his feet still swinging. She absently wondered if they would stop swinging once he found out the true fate of his sister.

Later, she looked up The Butterfly Project.

It was a trick to stop cutting.

You draw butterflies on yourself and name them. Until the ink fades away, you aren't allowed to cut yourself. The ink must come off naturally, no scrubbing them away otherwise you kill a butterfly. If you but before that, you kill a butterfly.

Supposedly, you were supposed to get your loved ones to name your butterflies or name them after your loved ones.

When she saw the body again, she inspected the dead girl's arms. The ones covered in butterflies. They all had deliberate lines through them, the dead girl having driven the blade through each of the butterfly's wings.

Except for one.

The only butterfly that lived was green.
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