“How many times more do you think, you will be able to handle it?”

A hand slowly caressing a butterfly tattoo over the prominent hipbone.

“Handle what?”

The fingers tracing the pattern, moving up and down.

“Being killed.”

It was said that when a person was killed and then restored, a butterfly pattern would appear on the place where the wound had blossomed. It would forever remind the owner of the mercy of the gods.

No answer followed. But that was expected.

“How did it go this time?”

The hand moved higher, stroking the flat stomach.

“I had a weird dream.”

“You dreamed?”

Not a hint of surprise in the voice.

“I always dream.”

A faint smile.

“Tell me about it.”

The lips pressed to the skin.

“I was being swallowed by the darkness. The rainbow circles and lines were swirling before my eyes, though I was pretty sure that my eyes were wide open. And then my vision was becoming more clear and I thought that I might be coming around again, but still everything was partially obscured by darkness. Then I noticed some light behind me, but I turned around there was only darkness. And still I could see the faint glimpses of the light behind me again. I turned again. And again there was nothing.”

There was a pause. The lips kept moving.

“I heard a flutter of wings. And when I turned my head, I saw two white wings attached to my back. And they were shining brightly.”

The caress stopped.

“Can you imagine that? I had the wings. Just like an angel.”

A low chuckle.

“You know perfectly well that they don’t exist. It’s a fairy tale for kids.”

“I know.”

A pause again.

“What happened next?”

A gentle whisper.

“I… I woke up. I was lying flat on my back, staring at the sky. It was raining. I was soaked wet. I was cold. I was alive.”

A rustle of bed sheets. Fidgeting. A flick of a lighter.

“Do you understand what it means? The wings?”

A well-concealed grief in the voice.

“It means that next time you will die for real.”

A swirl of smoke rising to the ceiling.

“I know…”

The lips ghosting over the butterfly tattoo, sucking on the skin, the tongue tasting the pattern.

“I don’t want to lose you…”

A hand was caressing his hair. The eyes stared up blankly. The butterfly tasted of salt. He didn’t know he was crying.

“…”

He didn’t know what to answer.