Seasons came by quickly once more.
But something changed.
Spring became bleak. Summer was too suffocating. Autumn felt cold, and winter felt like a tornado.
What had once been whispers of unease became a chorus of accusations. Where she had once been praised as the perfect butterfly, her wings now appeared tainted — fragile.
It began subtly, almost laughably.
A friend who once clung to her side at every gathering began refusing her invitations.
An employer, who once boasted of her brilliance, suggested she take "a short leave of absence."
At first, she brushed it aside—she had endured envy before, survived pettiness and jealousy with a smile sharper than steel.
But this was different.
Each day, another part of her life was pulled loose—chipping away the elegance of a butterfly.
Her colleagues murmured that her charm was manipulation. Her family questioned her intentions when she spoke. Even strangers who once admired her beauty now muttered that she was too perfect, too practiced, too dangerous.
And at the center of it all stood him.
Her fiancé.
The supposedly soulmate.
He did not accuse her outright—no, that would have been kinder. Instead, he let silence speak.
He allowed others to paint her as a deceiver, a threat, a woman unworthy of trust. And when eyes turned to him for confirmation, he did not defend her.
She had fought battles her entire life with wit, with poise, with carefully chosen words. But against silence, she had no weapon.
The collapse was merciless.
Her family, who had basked in her radiance for years, now recoiled. Her mother avoided her gaze. Her father spoke of "appearances" and "reputation." Her siblings merely didn't even bother acknowledging her presencr. The warmth of home became colder than the streets.
Her friends distanced themselves one by one, until gatherings that once overflowed with laughter now felt like empty halls. Even the maids in her household no longer bowed with respect, but with thinly veiled disdain.
Her job—her pride, her independence—was the final blow. The letter came cold and precise: We regret to inform you…
She stared at the words until her vision blurred, the weight of every season pressing down on her chest.
But it was not the loss of work, nor family, nor even pride that finally broke her.
It was him.
The man who had laughed when she tricked him, who promised to know her true self, who swore under blooming cherry blossoms that he would never let go. The boy who had seen every mask and loved her still.
Now, he was the one who cast her away.
She cornered him one evening, desperate, trembling not with anger but with fear—the fear of a butterfly whose wings had been torn, who had nothing left to fly with.
"Tell me," she begged, voice breaking, "do you still believe me? Do you still believe in us?"
For a long, excruciating moment, he said nothing.
And then, finally, he spoke.
"You're dangerous."
Her heart stopped.
The words sliced through her chest, sharper than any blade. She tried to laugh, tried to dismiss it as a cruel joke, but his eyes were colder than winter frost.
"You twist everything, everyone, until nothing is real anymore. Maybe I was blind as a boy, but now I see clearly. You don't want love—you want control."
Her lips parted, but no words came. For the first time, she could not speak her way out. For the first time, silence claimed her.
He turned away, leaving her alone in the garden where they had once dreamed of a future.
And in that moment, she realized: she had not lost a fiancé, nor a family, nor a place in society. She had lost the last person she trusted.
That night, she stood atop a tall building, the city lights blurring below her like a thousand false stars. Her hands trembled as she looked down, her reflection faintly visible in the shattered windshield of a rusting car parked far below.
Her wings had carried her through every season, but now they were torn, battered, useless.
And as the wind howled around her, one thought consumed her mind:
Even butterflies cannot survive the fall.
A once elegant butterfly who was born with pristine majesty was now only attracting bugs of the trash. And as she thought of what would happen, all that she could really hear is the flickering waves of the fire—
The blaring of the car—
The shouts of pedestrians—
And the raspy, unadorned breaths of a man.