In the valley where white cabbage flowers bloomed every spring, people sometimes spoke of a girl with wings. They said she appeared only at dawn or dusk, when the light was soft and shadows long. She had bright blue eyes, wide and clear, and on her back shimmered delicate butterfly wings — pale yellow with veins of copper, like sunlight through glass.
Her name was Elina.
She lived quietly at the edge of the fields, half human, half butterfly. The villagers whispered about her, some afraid, others enchanted. Children left blossoms for her, believing she was the spirit of their harvest. Adults, however, kept their distance. To them, she was too strange, too different.
But one day, a young man named Adrian noticed her. He was a traveler, passing through on his way to the city. At first, he thought she was a vision — the way she bent over the flowers, her wings moving gently in the wind. But when she lifted her head and looked at him with those wide blue eyes, he knew she was real. Read more
“Why do you stare?” she asked softly.
“Because you’re… impossible,” he admitted.
She smiled at that, a little sadly. “That’s what everyone says.”
Unlike the others, Adrian did not turn away. He returned the next day, and the next, until she grew used to his presence. He watched how she cared for the cabbage flowers, how butterflies seemed to follow her, as if she were one of them. Slowly, he began to learn her truth.
“I’m not fully human,” Elina said one evening. “I was born from a woman’s heart and a butterfly’s wings. I don’t fully belong to either world. That is why people keep their distance.”
But Adrian stepped closer, his voice steady.
“Then let me be the one who stays.”
As the days turned to weeks, a bond grew between them. He told her stories of the cities, of lights and music she had never seen. She told him how the world looked from the sky when she spread her wings and flew above the fields at twilight.
Their love was gentle, but fragile — for Elina’s wings were delicate, and each flight cost her strength. She feared that one day she would vanish, like all butterflies do when their season ends.
“Don’t love me too much,” she warned him once. “Butterflies never stay long.”
But he only took her hand, firm and certain.
“Then let me love you as if every day is forever.”
And so, in the valley of cabbage flowers, where others saw only a strange winged girl, Adrian saw something more — a woman who was both fragile and strong, fleeting yet unforgettable. To him, Elina was not a legend or a spirit. She was simply the one he had been searching for all his life.
When she flew, he watched her with his eyes — not to hold her, but to remind himself that some loves aren’t meant to be caged; they are meant to be cherished, like a butterfly’s flight at dusk.
