Peace at last

I was supposed to be dead.

Yet I opened my eyes.

There I was, lying in the heart of a glowing circle carved into the earth. The forest around me was bathed in silence, yet within the circle, the air shimmered — alive, sacred.

Tiny light particles drifted through the air, glowing like falling stars, appearing and vanishing with every breath I took. They danced around me, warm and weightless, settling on my skin as though I was something they had been waiting for.

I slowly pushed myself upright, expecting the familiar stab of pain… but felt nothing. No chains. No wounds screaming in agony. Only light.

I lifted my trembling hand.

At once, the particles gathered to it, drawn as if by an unseen force. They swirled over a gash along my wrist, sinking into the scar. The blood dried. The torn flesh closed. My skin sealed, smooth as though the wound had never been.

I gasped. My heart pounded.

The light was inside me — answering me, healing me. The stone had not abandoned me.

It had saved me.

And for the first time, I realized… I was no longer only a girl.

I was something more.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t fight.

I simply lay back down, the earth cool beneath me, and let the circle of light wrap itself around my broken body.

The tiny particles continued to fall, brushing against my skin like the gentlest touch of heaven. Each one melted into me, mending what had been torn, soothing what had been scarred.

For the first time in so long, I felt no pain.

My chest rose and fell in calm rhythm, not with gasps of agony, but with breaths of peace. My eyelids grew heavy, the glow around me pulsing like a lullaby.

I didn’t know what this power was. I didn’t understand why it had chosen me.

But in that moment, none of it mattered.

For the first time since my childhood, I felt safe.

So I closed my eyes and surrendered… not to death, but to something far gentler.

Sleep.

When I opened my eyes, it was morning.

Golden sunlight filtered through the leaves, soft and warm against my skin. I blinked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my body still light as if I were floating in a dream.

And then I saw it.

A butterfly — not of flesh and wing, but of pure light. Its delicate form shimmered, glowing with soft hues of white and gold, each movement leaving trails of glittering particles in the air.

It hovered just before my face, tilting as if studying me, then fluttered to the side.

My gaze followed.

There, lying neatly beside me, was a set of small, delicate clothes — pure and soft, unlike anything I had ever worn.

I sat up slowly, confusion clouding my thoughts. My fingers brushed the fabric, feeling warmth hum through it, as if it carried the same magic that had healed me.

Before I could question it, the light butterfly circled once more, then drifted toward my chest.

I gasped softly as it dissolved into me — scattering into a thousand radiant sparks that seeped into my skin.

The warmth spread within me, calm and steady, as if the light had marked me, claimed me.

And I understood — the circle had not just saved me.

It had chosen me.

I gathered the clothes into my arms, ready to wear them, when the butterfly reappeared.

It fluttered out of my chest, glowing brighter in the morning light. I froze, watching as it hovered gently in front of me, then drifted forward, pausing as though waiting.

I hesitated, then rose to my feet and followed.

Step by step, the butterfly guided me through the trees, its shimmering body leaving trails of light in the air. Soon, I heard the sound of running water, and there before me lay a crystal-clear stream, its surface sparkling like liquid glass beneath the sun.

The butterfly circled once, then settled near the water’s edge.

I understood.

Silently, I stepped into the stream. The water was cool, pure, cleansing away the blood and dirt that clung to me from the horrors I had endured. As I submerged myself, it was as if the pain, the fear, the darkness was being washed away too.

When I stepped out, the butterfly fluttered back, and I slipped into the delicate clothes. They fit as though they had been woven for me alone, soft and light against my skin.

Then, with a final graceful sweep, the butterfly formed a tiny ribbon of light. It drifted upward and tied itself into a neat bow upon my hair, glowing faintly before fading into silk.

I touched it gently, my heart trembling.

The butterfly hovered once more, as if smiling… then dissolved into the air, leaving only the faintest sparkles behind.

I stood there, bathed in light and silence, no longer the broken child I had been.

Something had changed.

Something had begun.

I stayed in that forest for days.

The light never left me. It was just like my mother once was — gentle, protective, always watching.

Each night, when I grew weary, the light shaped a nest for me among the trees, weaving leaves and flowers into a bed so soft it felt as though I slept upon clouds.

Each morning, I would awaken to find a new set of clothes laid beside me, fresh and clean, as though stitched by unseen hands. Beside them, a basket of fruits, ripe and sweet, always enough to fill my hunger.

And whenever despair began to creep into my heart — whenever I almost felt I could not go on — the light would stir. It would shimmer around me, warming my skin, lifting my spirit, and easing my pain.

It was as if my mother was right there with me again, holding me close, soothing me with her voice.

Yet deep inside, I knew… this was not my mother.

This was something greater.

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