Butterflies rise from the lake, born of it through white wings.
The night comes at them like a brigand, but unknowingly they float through the air towards the luminescent moon.
To float far away from home, shall draw blood from their wings
rippling the water; changing what once was so clear to a dark red.
The butterflies are struck by the night and blinded by their own blood, falling deep into the red, to be revived forever more.