Love Is Like A Butterfly By Dolly Parton Mga Nobela at Kwento

Just raw, scarred skin where the voice should be. But this time, Yvette didn’t flinch. She lifted the lock of hair. And screamed. The sound tore through the air like fire. The entity recoiled. The ritual circle glowed. Yvette’s voice, cracked and untrained, sang—the lullaby from the dreams. But louder. Fierce. Raw. Each note ripped into the darkness. Each word broke a chain. The figure writhed. And then— It cracked. Splintered. Fell apart into dust.

“Felix, I want you to be safe and happy, always.” He gently placed a necklace around my neck. It was a butterfly pendant, wings spread wide, something he had saved up for after months of part-time work. He said, “Sis Chloe, we’re going to fly away from here together.” That was the last time he ever called me “Sis.” I woke up feeling parched, as if my throat were on fire. “Water...” My voice, barely a whisper, wasn’t loud enough to reach the person standing by the door.

Now that the singing had penetrated her stressed brain, it was pretty darned hard to miss. “And that was ‘Love Is Like a Butterfly,’” Maria announced in an impressed voice, as if she’d found the off-key rendition very enjoyable. Further proof that her sister-in-law really was a kind, kind vampire. Now, the next singer to come on stage is ,” Maria glanced at the square of paper she held, “Sophia Anderson-”

So I put on my earphones and hit play on my iPod. But of course, the songs that came on only reminded me of her. Every lyric seemed to echo the feelings I couldn’t shake. "Butterfly" by Crazy Town played, and I was done for. Come my lady, come, come my lady, you're my butterfly, sugar baby...

Love Always, Haley’

"You're the light, you're the night You're the colour of my blood You're the cure, you're the pain You're the only thing I wanna touch Never knew that it could mean so much, so much..." She moved freely without realizing that she was already singing the song called Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding. Natasha was indeed enjoying herself while preparing the meals for them. "You're the fear, I don't care 'Cause I've never been so high Follow me through the dark Let me take you past our satellites

It felt personal as if that song meant so much to her. My smile widened when she played Jolene. “Damn, I like that song. Forget that I asked you to paint. Just play this damn guitar, and you made me the luckiest fucking man on earth.” Well, couldn't I be any cheesier than tonight? “My dad loves Dolly Parton. I think you two would get along just fine.” “Sorry about your mom, River.” God, I was a terrible person. My stomach knotted fiercely. “Thank you. Now let’s sing together.”

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.

Your love is like a cocoon, the thought of it, drenched with the idea of your beauty, like a butterfly, splashed in color, but the reality is like a moth, ordinary and simple. I don’t know why I keep hoping you are different. Sienna Bray, 12/08/2020