The butterfly was very pretty.
This was, objectively, the issue.
Zhen had been in the middle of her very sincere, very carefully worded apology when it appeared. It floated past her mother's shoulder on enormous wings the colour of a sunset, all orange and gold, and her eyes had followed it completely against her will.
Her brain, to be fair, tried.
You are apologising, her brain said. You are looking at Mama. You are being good.
The butterfly dipped lower. It landed on a flower fifteen feet away. It folded and unfolded its wings.
Very good, her brain said desperately. Very responsible. You are five years old and extremely—
She was already moving.
Not running. Not exactly. Just.….drifting. Very casually. In the direction of the butterfly. While still technically facing forward. Sort of.
"And I'm sorry about—" she called back, still drifting, "—all the things!"
The butterfly launched itself back into the air.
Zhen followed.
