Butterfly Scream Novels & Stories

, She mumble "What did you just say to me?!!", Anthony boomed in fury. How dare she bring his sister into thi She opened her mouth to give him a reply, but she exited her mouth her mouth was not what she was expectin As she opened her to reply him, she felt funny, and suddenly, a surge of fluid emitted from her system like larva leaving a volcano, and she threw up on Anthony. Before long, Anthony was completely drenched in vomit

At my grave, he reached out to touch the photo carved into my tombstone, his smile radiant, though his eyes brimmed with sorrow. "If only the old tales of lovers turning into butterflies were real," he murmured. And in that moment, I felt myself transform—my soul taking shape as a butterfly. I fluttered down, landing softly on his shoulder. He lifted a hand and brushed the edge of my fragile wings. A single tear fell from his eye. Then suddenly, blood spilled from his lips. He collapsed in front of my grave. Moments later, another butterfly appeared beside me. Together, we circled freely in the wind, then soared higher and higher, toward an endless horizon.

The shrilling pains started followed by his howling and guttural screams. It was gradual. Like any other times when the slaughter butterflies would hunt and kill, they would render their target trap inside their domain by swarming around their prey, cutting all the escape routes for their prey. The second step was to render their prey immobile. The slaughter butterflies would pierce their lengthy fangs into their prey’s flesh and then the sucking session would begin. With the blood and energy draining out, the prey would be rendered unmoving. When the prey was completely motionless, the prey’s flesh would be the next target. Eating the flesh down to the bones with nothing left but clothes, t

My heart restarted with a pang, its pounding drowning the air howling past us. Curling instinctively around Xanthea, I pulled her back against my chest and twisted, turning my back toward the ground. The valley sensed me. The moment it did, a swarm of red butterflies erupted across the land like a living storm, rising upward in a violent squall. They united into a crimson tide just before impact, breaking our fall. The breath knocked from my lungs as we rebounded off my butterflies. My back crashed into the cushioned bed of spider lilies, pain bursting through my spine.

"Reflect it. Throw the noise back ." Understanding flickers in their detached eyes. A spark. They raise the jagged piece of Mirror. It catches the chaotic, pulsing light of the sanctuary, the warped colors bleeding in from outside. For a second, nothing. Then… a high-pitched screech , like feedback magnified a thousandfold, erupts from the shard. Not directed at me. Outwards. Into the psychic maelstrom.

“It’s a umbrella for you. Butterfly wings are big enough to keep out the rain.” Jenny took the piece of paper in her hands. The paper made a “rustling” sound as it moved between her fingers. The crayon colors left marks on her fingerprints—pink, blue, brown, green—standing out sharply against her pale skin. She looked down at the butterfly. Its wings were pink, with asymmetrical patterns: three dots on the left wing and two on the right. The butterfly’s body was brown, and its antennae were blue, bending to form two question-mark-shaped arcs on the paper.

ALEXA Every glance… Every touch… Every laughter… His smile… His face… His smell… The wetness of my pussy every single time How I wish he would just bend me over, and let me scream his name Was that too much to ask? The way my feelings for him looked like nothing but forbidden love, incest between a brother and a sister

A gruff, trolling voice called out from the front, amidst echoing snickers, “and who’s that, your boyfriend?” Well damn, looks like he spoke too soon.

He smiled, a genuine, unburdened expression, and reached out a tentative finger to touch a vibrant butterfly that had landed on a nearby flower. Its wings, a kaleidoscope of colors, shimmered in the sunlight, a fragile masterpiece of nature. Then, the idyllic scene shattered. The butterfly, a symbol of beauty and fleeting joy, morphed into a swarm of a million ants, their tiny bodies coalescing into a writhing, menacing mass. They descended upon him, an army of miniature terrors, crawling over his skin, their mandibles biting and stinging, inflicting a thousand tiny pinpricks of agony.

Slowly, he lifted my hand and pressed it gently over my eyes. “It’s best if you don’t watch.” I heard the door open, heard his feet hit the asphalt. And then a scream. Followed by a louder one—ragged, jagged. I squeezed my eyes shut, muttering beneath my breath, “It’s best not to watch.” Another scream tore through the night. But this one was different. It was higher. More desperate. A screech that didn’t sound like it came from a human’s throat. My fingers parted allowing one of my eyes to peer through the narrow slit.