As I weave the last few layers of my silken tomb, the temptation of flight is almost too much to handle. The thought of fluttering, velvet wings, reflecting the guiding starlight, consumes the darkest spaces of my mind.
Previous transformations have denied me my wings. It feels as though the celestial bodies have conspired against me. Maybe my longing lacks purity as my imagination often includes beautiful visions of my new self. Vanity denied.
Perhaps my perception is a bit skewed. And as I refocus, I’m left not with the vision of the butterfly, but with an overwhelming feeling of control. I can reinvent myself in any manner I desire, the only limit is my imagination. I shall put down my needle and thread and instead raise my antennas towards the sky and await transmission.