Butterflies of the Dark Star

51 (REVISED)

Yet, I need to hear you again.

Every log, a reminder of what she failed to see.

I told you to start taking logs to remind yourself of the things you lose track of.

Neo, excited and happy about them being chosen for a doomed mission.

It went deeper.

His words echoed straight to her. Some logs full of the same blissful awareness, but others a layer to him he never let anyone, even her, see. It grew in her chest when he listened to him ramble on, believing no one wanted to listen to him. Until she reached the last glitch, but his existence was so much more than that.

Nova pressed the button to listen.

Static rang out, and she frowned. It dissipated, and she released another sob and threw it to the side. As she hugged her knees, the flowers wilted and the butterflies disappeared into stars. Left alone in the darkness, she stared into the abyss.

Until it rebuilt itself in her side eye, and she whipped around. A projection of him, but it never replaced the real thing. He tipped his head, then jolted. "Wait, did the connection finish?" he asked to air, through static, so far away from her. Nova got to her feet when he pinched his cheek in thought. Another past. Another log. Behind him, she reached out to touch his back. "... it didn't work, did it?"

His voice was so weary.

Nova grazed the mist, but he never reacted. You're gone.

"It did work," she assured the ghost, and a painful smile crawled on her lips when Neo shook his head with an exasperated sigh at the idea of note taking of any form. "It's recording, Neo. I can hear you."

He stiffened, then twisted around to stare at her with wide eyes, or at something past her. Nova stepped back from the past's strange reaction. "Did you... hear me?" he asked, but then turned away again, wincing as he rubbed his temple. Starry butterflies fluttered at his feet on the trails of grey nebulas. "Oh... great, I'm talking to myself. Out loud this time... actually, not the first time. Why am I so surprised?"

He sounded like his old self.

"It kind of sounds like you're about to make a mad scientist joke," she whispered to the pale imitation. "I hear you, Neo."

But you're dead. And I'm the one talking to myself now.

Neo twisted back again as if following the sound of her voice. He squinted around her, then at the butterflies fluttering around him. He hesitated, then said, "Check your pocket for me."

...what?

Nova obeyed the lie against her better judgement and her own spiralling mind and tangled her hands into her pocket, then took out the broken butterfly, smouldering in cold embers. Neo zoned in on it, coming closer when she brought it closer to her face.

Cosmic bubbles rippled through her world.

"You can hear me," he rasped with a small bounce and relief dripped across his face. "It did work." He faltered off, then confusion spread across his brow. "Wait. Hold on..." He rubbed his misty necklace. "When is this? Where are we, right now? Relatively, I should say?" He pinched his cheek once more. "Something feels wrong with the connection here, but if you can still hear me then..." Nova came closer to him, to brush her fingers across the projection, but her fingers went through him. "I hit the mark somewhere."

"Neo, are you talking to me?" Nova rasped.

Neo lowered his hands and kept his eyes closed. "It's blurry. I can't see past the static."