Once, an old woman lived at the edge of an orange desert in the far back of the Kingdom of The Butterfly People.
She lived all alone.
She was more than old. She was so ancient that people from the kingdom did not remember how old she was. She had always been old -- they said.
Her name was Kyla, and she had been weaving for as long as she could remember. At the beginning of time, she wove the orange desert and the whole kingdom into being while she was sitting on her mat on a bare patch of ground. Above her, only sky.
In time, butterflies would come from faraway lands.
They enjoyed the climate and populated the kingdom, which was called after them, and little by little, these wondrous butterflies turned into people. They became The Butterfly People and could shapeshift at will whenever it was needed.
And it came the time Kyla was tired of weaving.
She stopped and put her wrinkled hands in her lap for the very first time in aeons.
She closed her eyes and hummed to herself, in contented joy.
Kyla felt all time and all places converged at that very moment, as the universe throbbed with heightened attention and energy.
She was the weaver of the web of life.
As she opened her eyes, she moaned in amazement, as she realized what she had done for the very first time.
The Butterfly People came fluttering their beautiful wings, they hovered near her and filled the space around Kyla with the most astonishing colours: violets, fuchsias, yellows, blues, oranges and greens in many shades.
All around, it looked like a downpour of multicolored stars and Kyla's heart beat faster and faster.
The Butterfly People celebrated her and were grateful for her work. It was thanks to Kyla that they had found their home, settled down and evolved into wondrous beings.
Kyla lay down to rest.
All the while, The Butterfly People were fluttering their beautiful wings, lulling her to sleep.
She slept. She dreamt for a long, long time.
One morning, Kyla opened her eyes again but could neither move her limbs nor open her mouth.
Yet, she felt light and peaceful.
Soon, the skin of what had been her old body split open and fell apart.
Out came Kyla, the child girl, with translucent, thin, diaphanous skin and luminous pink wings that grew on her shoulders.
It was a glorious moment, the dawning of a new day when nobody but Mother Earth and Father Sky saw what had happened to Kyla.
She was young, and lithe, and nimble like a sprite.
She opened her wings and flew far, far away and lived many new adventures, happily ever after.
