Bella rests her dull brown wings on a bright red flower. A flash of neon blue zips past. The beetle taps her dusty wing.
Other butterflies dive like stained glass. Bella hides behind a fern. Her brown wings blend perfectly into the shadows.
A shadow looms large over the forest floor. The bright butterflies freeze. Bella knows if she stays still, she becomes part of the bark.
Bella flutters low, mimicking fallen leaves. She nudges the dazed bee toward dry oak leaves. The predator looks confused by the lack of sparkle.
The danger passes. Bella’s brown wings rest gently against the moss. The bright butterflies look at her with wide, shimmering eyes.
She did not shine like them. But she survived. The forest floor accepted her quiet presence.
One bright butterfly lands nearby. It does not speak. It simply watches the brown wings settle into the dust.
Bella closes her eyes. She feels the warmth of the sun on her back. Survival is enough.
The beetle returns, scuttling over the leaf litter. He pauses, then moves on. The forest breathes softly.
Bella lifts one foot, then the other. She prepares for another day of hiding in plain sight.
The neon butterflies fly away, chasing the wind. Bella stays. She is the leaf, the bark, the shadow.
Evening comes. The light turns gold. Bella rests her wings tight. She is safe.
