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" The butterfly continues to sit on my hand, its tiny feet tickling my skin. I raise my hand in order to examine this most beautiful yet frail of God’s creatures. The butterfly is unafraid of me, yet I might quash its life force at any moment. That is the beauty of the butterfly. It rises from the most humble of beginnings, only to awaken one summer day and find that it has become most beautiful, most happy, in its transformation. Yet, the life of the creature that becomes a butterfly is short, most short indeed. It is only in its beauty for a very short time. The butterfly graces us with its beauty, such is its magic. Then, in a short time, that loveliness is removed from our presence. "
― Hunter S. Jones , Phoenix Rising: A novel of Anne Boleyn
