A thin beam of sunlight slipped through the narrow, iron-barred window and rested across the face of a child.
He stirred.
His small hand shifted against the cold stone floor as his eyes slowly opened, squinting against the light. For a moment, there was confusion in his gaze… like he was trying to remember a dream he could no longer reach.
Then reality returned.
"…You're awake."
The voice was soft.
The child turned his head and saw his friend sitting nearby—another child, just like him. Chains hung loosely from his wrists, far too heavy for someone so small. Yet somehow… he smiled.
"You scared me," his friend said quietly. "I thought you wouldn't wake up."
The protagonist pushed himself up, his movements slow and weak. "…Where are we…?"
His friend hesitated, then looked away. "…Somewhere we can't leave."
Silence settled between them.
Then suddenly—
"Hey… look!"
His friend pointed toward the window, his eyes lighting up.
The child followed his gaze.
A butterfly hovered just outside the bars.
Its wings shimmered in the sunlight, glowing faintly in unnatural colors—too perfect, too precise. It moved gracefully, almost beautifully… but there was something strange about it.
It didn't flap quite right.
It didn't drift with the wind.
Still… to two children trapped in a lifeless cell, it was mesmerizing.
They both stood, stepping closer. The faint clink of chains echoed softly.
"It's so pretty…" his friend whispered, reaching out slightly but stopping before the bars.
The butterfly floated closer.
Closer.
Its wings flickered—just for a second.
Like light breaking.
The child's eyes narrowed.
"…Wait…"
Before he could finish—
Fsssh—
A sharp hiss cut through the air.
The butterfly froze mid-flight.
Then its glowing wings distorted.
Light fractured.
And suddenly—it ignited.
Not like something alive burning…
…but like an image collapsing.
Flames of flickering light consumed it instantly, its form breaking apart into fragments of glowing particles before vanishing completely.
Gone.
The space beyond the window was empty again.
Silent.
The children stood frozen.
"…It… disappeared…" the friend whispered.
His voice trembled.
"It wasn't even real…"
His hands began to shake, and tears welled up in his eyes.
"They made it… just to show us…"
His voice cracked as he stepped back.
"…that even something fake… doesn't get to leave."
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
The protagonist felt his chest tighten painfully. His vision blurred as he stared at the empty sky beyond the bars.
Even hope…
…was manufactured.
And destroyed.
Right in front of them.
His legs gave out, and he sank to the floor beside his friend.
Soon, both children were crying.
Not loudly.
Just quiet, helpless sobs—like something inside them had quietly broken.
Footsteps echoed outside.
The door creaked open.
A guard stepped in, his presence heavy and cold.
"…Crying again?"
His voice was sharp with irritation.
"You children still don't understand?"
Neither of them looked up.
The guard scoffed. "That wasn't a butterfly. Just a projection. A lesson."
He stepped closer, his boots echoing against the stone.
"Out there is not freedom. Out there is control. And if you ever forget that…"
He paused, glancing toward the window.
"…you'll be erased just as easily."
The children trembled.
Suddenly—
Beep… Beep…
A sharp sound echoed from the air vent above.
The guard clicked his tongue and looked up.
A distorted voice followed:
"—All guards report immediately. Repeat. All guards report immediately—"
"…Tch."
The guard turned back toward them.
"Stay silent."
His voice dropped colder.
"Not even your tears are permitted."
With that, he left, the door slamming shut behind him.
Silence returned once more.
The two children sat there, their cries slowly fading into soft, broken breaths.
The friend wiped his eyes weakly, but the tears didn't stop.
"…Even the sky isn't real…" he whispered.
The protagonist said nothing.
He simply lay back down, staring upward—his mind replaying the moment again and again.
The flicker.
The distortion.
The burning light.
A fake butterfly…
in a fake freedom.
And yet… the fear it left behind was real.
Slowly, exhaustion pulled them under.
The two children drifted into sleep, their small bodies still trembling—haunted not by something alive…
…but by something that was never real to begin with.