There were butterflies on her mountainous peaks, and there was another one inside her garden. All of them were not gentle at all; they only knew roughness, and their snoots worked together, trying to draw the rest of the nectar out of her.
It won't be long before she is a dried piece of plant, despite the spring season. These little butterflies were really gluttonous. They wouldn't let her go after a simple taste.
Arianne could feel them stirring, hooking her soul and latching on it, imprinting their existences within and everywhere they glided and flutter across. Their snoots on the spots would always trigger a tiny explosion of pleasure on its trail, lifting her to greater and breathless heights even though their little wings were incapable of doing it.
She tried to capture one, but the others were relentless in their pursuit. Thus, she gave up.
They continue to suck, nibble, and dye her skin in deep and frantic strokes.