Butterfly Resurrection Novels & Stories

Soon, the air was clear of smoke and Amren immediately collapsed on the cold floor. Rhysand lay on the bed while Amren lay on the floor. The room quiets down after witnessing the forbidden ritual take place under their watch, the book of Resurrection on the table. Cold air blew into the room and flung open the chapters of the book, Witch Resurrection Dose. There the chapter of the book was written. "The Consequences of This Ritual is the exchange of the witch's life....INTERCHANGE OF DEATH AND LIFE....The Doer Dies, The Dead comes back to life"

The second thing she has noticed so far is that, each time an Althea dies, it doesn't literally mean it resurrects just like that. There are three types of resurrection for her. The first was that as soon as she dies, she comes back to life with no memories. The second one is that if the Althea was dismembered in several body parts-let's say, for example, five-that Althea would regenerate and become five Altheas in total, creating multiples of her in one swoop. And lastly, there are Altheas like her; although they could still be counted with humam fingers, as soon as she dies, she will only regenerate, retaining her memories, becoming a full-blown immortal being.

“For his case, he must make his daughter forget about him like he never existed to save her” “How!? Chelsea must not die!” “Bad news is, it doesn’t apply to you. Your case was different. You reincarnated on the same year, the same day you died which is very strange. I never encountered cases like yours before but I have read it from our book, that kind of case” “What is it? Tell me! Tell me please!”

Chloe announced to her assembled classmates, "we are going to learn about the life cycle of the painted lady butterfly. Anya, please distribute the coloring sheets." Anya handed out the pages with the efficiency of a seasoned assistant. "I colored mine already. I used purple." "Butterflies aren't purple," one of the boys protested. "Some butterflies are purple," Chloe said firmly. "The purple emperor butterfly is native to Europe and parts of Asia. It's very rare." "How do you know that?" "I read books. You should try it sometime."

The Butterfly Conservatory was a geodesic dome of hexagonally paneled glass, filled with lush ferns, humidity, and thousands of painted ladies fluttering in the heavy air. It was 9:00 AM. Mira had decided that the theme for the morning was "Rebirth." "Butterflies represent transformation!" Mira shouted from the entrance, holding a mimosa. "They go into the cocoon as goo, they come out as beauty! Just like your relationship! Now, go sit on the bench. Look peaceful. Look transformed."

Breathtaking. I’d always been a fan of butterflies. They were gorgeous creatures. And they were free, flying anywhere their hearts desired. But most of all, they represented the ongoing transformation of self throughout life. After finishing college, butterflies related to how I was feeling. Long ago, I was a certain type of Mia who talked and thought one way. Years in college and away from Dad and my brothers, I was a different person with another perspective. It had been a complete metamorphosis—egg to larva, pupa to adult.

She moved slowly. His hands trembled on her hips, like even now, he was afraid to grip too tight, afraid to ruin the fragile grace of this moment. But Lydia… she moaned softly. And whispered against his mouth: “This isn’t surrender. This is resurrection.” And when they came—together, hard, gasping—it wasn’t the collapse of control. It was the rebirth of it. They didn’t move for a long time. Bodies still tangled. Skin warm. Hearts wild.

Could it be that the heavens heard me? So I'm not dead. Is this a second chance... To rewrite my mistakes?