A Morpho in the Rain

The chessboard, in its initial state.

Black pawn to e5.

“They’re called living jewels—the most beautiful butterflies in the world.”

“Their color comes from structural coloration.”

White pawn to e4.

“Structural coloration?”

Black pawn to h5.

“Like soap bubbles. The scales on their wings cause light interference.”

White bishop to c4.

“So the blue isn’t from pigment. It’s the result of optical refraction.”

Black bishop to c5.

“And what’s the difference between that and having blue pigment?”

White knight to f3.

“When wet, their color appears to change.”

“Huh.”

“Your move.”

“Yeah.”

Black bishop to d4.

“…In some cultures, they’re said to grant wishes.”

If you catch one, make a wish, and let it go, it will carry your hope to the gods.

“They’re like bluebirds, then. But Morphos aren’t that delicate.”

“Their larvae feed on poisonous legume plants and store the toxins in their bodies.”

White knight to g5.

“As adults, they feed on fungi and the carcasses of dead animals.”

Black knight to h6.

“When mounted as specimens, their abdomens are removed so the structural color isn’t ruined by bodily fluids.”

White pawn to h3.

“The word Morpho comes from Greek. It means ‘beauty,’ and it also describes the goddess Aphrodite.”

Black queen takes the knight on g5.

“What’s your answer, Kaizuka Inaho?”

A hush fell. For a breath, even sound withdrew.

Slaine’s gaze held light as it fixed on him.

It was the kind of tension where even the fluttering shadow of an eyelash against a cheek in the moment of a blink could be seen—and somehow, Inaho realized he found comfort in that.

He lined up the words in his throat and reached toward the board with his right hand.

“Maybe it’s that beauty exists because there’s light. What about you?”

White pawn to d3.

Slaine gave a small nod and opened his lips.

“Even after death, with its belly laid open—full of poison and carrion—they still demand its beauty.”

He moved the black queen back to g6.

“Pitiful, yet beautiful.”

White bishop captures the piece at h6.

“What is it you love, Slaine Troyard?”

“…If I were to borrow your words,”

Slaine tilted his mouth in a lopsided smile, his eyes drifting from the board.

“A living Morpho, soaked in water.”

Beside the board lay a pair of fallen knights—one white, one black.

Their heads lay severed.