Little Match Girl

“It’s all Curiosity flowers now. They must have taken over the other flowers,” Marianne said. She set down her basket and swept her hand across the sea of buds, which rippled in a blooming arc. “How beautiful."

Airi picked up the basket. “Shouldn’t we get going?”

Marianne sat down. “I’d like to rest here a bit, if you don’t mind.”

“Aren’t we in a hurry?”

“Magic is about emotions as much as it is about knowledge,” Marianne said, breathing in deeply. She picked a flower and twirled it over her face. “I need to be calm for this fight.”

Airi sat down beside her.

A crystalwing fluttered by and landed on one of the buds, which bloomed, glistening with nectar. The crystalwing crawled onto a petal, iridescent antennae bobbing like harp strings.

Marianne watched the crystalwing sip at the nectar. “You know, Mildred told me something the other day. She—”

With the speed of an executioner’s axe, the petals snapped shut, trapping the crystalwing. The bud quivered for a moment, then was still. A breeze rustled through the meadow. Marianne looked unbothered, but disgust wormed through Airi.

“I didn’t know they were carnivorous plants.”

“Hm? That’s why their serum is so helpful. It contains enzymes meant for digesting insects. In small amounts, it dissolves dead skin and erases wrinkles.”

“And in large amounts?”

“It’s highly toxic. Make sure Nestor doesn’t get his hands on any!” Marianne got up. “It’s about time to get going! Sorry for making you wait.”

“Okay. Great.” Airi took a step, then looked back at the flower that had swallowed the crystalwing. She reached out her hand and touched it.

The bud opened, releasing the crystalwing—only now, it was only a crystal caterpillar with stubby legs. It fell into the grass, wiggled its legs, and crawled onto a leaf.

The meadow seemed to go on forever. They’d already walked for over an hour, and the sun was beginning to set.

“Marianne, I don’t think there’s anything out—”

Her next word turned into a yelp, as the ground beneath her feet crumbled away. Curiosity flowers fell with her, dislodged from the soil.

Their free fall didn’t last long; Marianne cast Tale of Flight, and they landed gently on one of the giant tree roots crisscrossing the cavern.

“Where are we?” Airi’s voice echoed in the cavern.

Roots thick as tree trunks wound in and out of the walls, illuminated by glowing moss. Below them, countless roots extended deeper into the cavern. Wistral flowers hung from the ceiling, along with a large, hanging shape, blotting out the sunlight from the crack they had fallen through.

“Come on.” Marianne helped her up.

“What is that?” Airi pointed at the hanging shape.

“It's a chrysalis, by the looks of it.”

“Like a butterfly chrysalis?”

“A bit big for a butterfly,” Marianne said.

There was a rustling sound. The chrysalis on the ceiling swayed. Something was crawling out—Airi saw a leg, an antennae, a wing.

“It’s a crystalwing,” she whispered to Marianne. “A giant one.”

The creature unfurled its wings, which gleamed silver, like knife blades. Crystalwings didn’t have wings like that.

A sharp whizzing sound was the only warning. Airi instinctively raised her hand to block her face as the creature swooped down. It would have skewered her; instead, its wing skidded off her arm with a metallic clang and sliced through the root, sending them crashing down. Halfway down, Marianne managed to cast Tale of Flight again, lifting them onto another tree root.

“Steel wings? Seriously?” Airi said, gripping a handful of moss to keep her balance.

“Steel wings or not, it’s a butterfly. If it’s the butterfly monster I’ve read about, Katabasis is its official name.” Marianne paused. “It’s odd. I read a report from the king before I became Head Mage. That was ten years ago, and he said Katabasis had been killed by his knights already.”

“Well, clearly, he lied!”

Right on cue, the giant crystalwing sliced through the root. Marianne was ready this time, and they flew down to the next root. Apart from being made of steel, its wings had odd points on the ends, like the points of swords.

A vague suspicion formed in Airi’s head. “Marianne, I think—”

“Let’s kill it.” With shining eyes, Marianne reached inside her frilly sleeve and pulled out a book hidden in the lining: Little Match Girl.

Matches... what were they used for, again?

Lighting things on fire.

“Wait!” Airi cried, too late.

Blazing light filled Marianne’s eyes as flames raced across the monster’s wing, engulfing its body. Katabasis flapped its wings desperately, which only served to stir the flames up, and came crashing down. Airi pulled Marianne out of the way. Instead of smoke, there was a nostalgic smell in the air, like childhood toys and Mom’s cooking.

They watched the charred monster struggle. Its wings, despite being made from steel, had melted. Yet it was still moving. It scuttled along, then hung upside down so only its back legs were gripping the root. Marianne prepared to cast Little Match Girl again, but Airi said, "Wait!" Her suspicion was growing stronger by the second.

As she’d suspected, the monster formed a clear shell around itself, starting from its antennae and ending at its feet. A new chrysalis.

“It’s going to come back out any second,” she told Marianne.

“Then I’ll burn it again.” Marianne was still smiling. Airi had been wrong to fear Marianne’s cold, cunning side. This Marianne, devoid of reason, was the one to be afraid of.

“No, you don’t underst—” Airi saw orange cracks appear on the inside of the chrysalis, like molten lava. “Watch out!” She grabbed Marianne’s hand and jumped down to a root below as the chrysalis exploded into fiery embers, which rained down.

Above them, Katabasis spread its wings, which were no longer made of steel. Instead, they were pure flame, sprouting from its body, forming a vague outline of butterfly wings.

Marianne tilted her head like a child, her eyes reflecting Katabasis’s flaming wings. “If only Wendolyn were here, she could put it out.”

“Marianne. What desire does Katabasis represent? Did that report say?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Is it the desire to start over? Start fresh? Something like that?”

“...That sounds right.”

It’s as I thought. It takes the form of whatever destroys its wings.