Alexandra:

I knew exactly who I was going to send my first satisfactory attempt to.

Who else? Evelyn.

I took a steadying breath, sucking in the air like I had a personal vendetta against it. Like I was trying to crush something inside. Like I was trying to change the air pressure in the room with a gesture.

It worked. I felt nothing again. Back to grounded peace.

I took the crumpled butterfly in my hands and the pieces on the floor. Such a waste. Tattered paper shreds, lying dead in my hands. Just another mistake.

I placed the pieces on my desk, watching the body of my butterfly bask in the sun. A sunlit corpse. I tore my gaze away.

I picked up the book of origami. It had to be a butterfly. It just had to.

To me, I would always remember Evelyn and butterflies in the same breath. I could never forget it. I could still see that night seared on the inside of my eyelids.

So, it had to be a butterfly.

I flipped through the book. There were three or four different types. I picked one.

I only had plain paper, so it would have to do. I carefully folded and tucked, until another butterfly was crouched in my hands, quivering for the air.

It seemed even more beautiful seeing it again. A phoenix risen from destruction. It's beautiful. A smile crossed my suppressed face.

It's beautiful. That is all people will see. And that is enough to make it a code. A secret carrier of information, dismissed by say, any postal searches, and arriving unharmed at the destination.

But this is not beautiful. Not yet.

The corners look too clumsy, my folds overlap in places, and I can see where I have attempted to re-fold parts, leaving ugly, unfinished ridges.

Currently, it would attract far too much attention, it looks shabby, suspicious, and futile. It looks like it has something to hide, and even if it does have no meaning, it will be torn away. So it needs to be perfected.

I place the ugly second butterfly on the desk, next to the torn first. Perfection must be achieved. I lower 

I pick up a third sheet of paper. Fold diagonally, line up the corners... It results in another ugly butterfly.

I stare at it critically. Each fold must be solidified only once it seems. I was uncertain, as I had not aligned the edges correctly, so one of the wings skewed up, like a hand reaching for the light. I place the reaching third butterfly it next to the ugly second. I look for the next sheet of paper.

A fourth. Fold diagonally, align outside corners and edges. Pinch folds to make them neat... Another butterfly. The front wings are flatter, and equal, but the bottom right is slightly smaller than the bottom left. I leave the lopsided forth next to the reaching third. My gaze falls to the next attempt.

The fifth. When pinching the folds, make sure it does not misaligned corners, as that can result in overhanging edges that don't fold in properly. I open my hands. The fifth butterfly looks normal. Equal wings, steady enough to balance.

I smile down at it, feeling the mask shift to keep the smile hidden. A chorus of five butterflies watch me. I only watch one.

It's white wings extend outwards, like a child holding out their arms to balance. It's thin body crouches in my hands, so unready, and so unaware of the effort it took to coax its form from a paper chrysalis. So unaware of its beauty.

It's head stretches up towards me, waiting for something. Waiting for words that will never come. Waiting for an expression I can never show. It seems to be a lead butterfly in my hands. It seems to have golden hopes. It is far too heavy.

I place it on the desk, but my gaze does not fall away.

I gaze at what I hope to be the future. The future is a small, unassuming origami butterfly, made of a white sheet of paper. It's folds are neat and calculated, containing it as something sweet and innocent, something to be underestimated. The future is sitting on my desk.

"Rena." I say.

The employee appears, her gaze swept towards the floor. My butterflies watch with paper-grain eyes, none but the fifth's as piercing as attentive as me. The dust-swirled sunlight pours in like a molten waterfall, rich and empowering as words. I can smell it in the air, I can see it settling on four sets of wings.

The employee nods, not daring to speak.

"Have this delivered to the Company of the House of Threes. To Evelyn of Threes." I commanded, transferring the butterfly to Rena's hands. "And take this with it." I also hand her the letter I finished penning.

"Yes, Sir." Rena nodded. She knows full well what that means. If she succeeds, she might get promoted. If she fails, she would be commended to a life off of Headquarters.

"Go, then." I waved her off, watching as she hurried out of the room.

My mind relaxed a little more now that I was alone again. I would always prefer to be alone in Fives. I grew up here after I turned nine, but it still doesn't feel like home. I sit in my chair, the back curving up over my head. I pull my knees to my chest, and I try to remember what it was like to feel the sunlight on my face.

It's the small things I miss most. The small things that feel like jewels of my past, that I can only look at, but never experience again.

My thoughts drift to Evelyn. I know she's bright enough to figure it out. It's one of the things I like about her. I miss her face. The one night I saw her face. The way her eyes twinkle like supernovae as she thinks. You can almost see her neurons connecting new pathways...

And I like her face. The curves of her lips, the slope of her nose, the gentle shade her eyelashes cast over her pupils. And her eyes... The way they never stop fully on one point in the room, always shifting, always alight with the murmurs of thought. If eyes are the window to the soul, her soul is somewhere I would very much like to be.

I still see her like that. Like that night...

There was light everywhere. Inorganic beams, pouring down too generously to be from the cultivated mother nature we knew. And then there was Evelyn...