Metamorphosis

Amelia smiles up at her mommy, doing her very best to stay still as she got her butterfly wings adjusted. They weren't, of course, -real- butterfly wings; even though her daddy often called her "his little bug", she wasn't actually small enough for that. And, besides, the thought of a butterfly running around without its wings made her feel kind of sad inside. No, her wings are made out of cardboard, painted up all pretty. She wishes, not for the first time, that they'd had more time to work on them, since they really didn't look very much like they were supposed to.

They -could- have had plenty of time. She had known what she wanted to be for Halloween for a long, long time, even before her mommy and daddy had started to ask her, as decorations started to appear in store windows, and the air began to get chilly.

"Nymphalidae", she told them, every time. And every time they'd look at each other for a long time without saying anything. And then, a few days later, they'd forget about it, and ask her again. She didn't know how many times they'd done that - quite a few, she was sure.

But they always had been good at letting certain things slip their minds, in the hope that she'd do the same. Luckily, Amelia's memory was much better than her parents', so she had made sure to remind them every time they'd asked what she wanted to be.

Amelia watches her mommy give the wings one final tug, brush some invisible dust off of them, a sad smile growing on her face. "It's okay, mommy," Amelia assures her, climbing up onto the chair to give her mommy a hug. "Me an' Carly'll have lots of fun!"

Her mommy forces her smile to brighten, as she kisses the top of her daughter's head. She can still remember a time, not that long ago, when no parent would ever let her child dress up like one of them, when no child would even want to. Of course, they hadn't been big on costumes back then, but even so... She could remember when the first boy had come to her door on Halloween, all decked out like one of them, and she'd resolved never to let any child of hers wear anything like that, to glorify those... things... in that way.

But now she just smiles, and brushes her daughter's hair away from her face, says, "I'm sure you will, baby. You look adorable." It wasn't difficult to say, just looking at her - it was incredibly true - but the words still made her feel a little sick inside. If it wouldn't have caused a deluge of tears, she would have told Amelia to go change. It's amazing, she muses, how quickly your values change, when your child's happiness is at stake. "I just wish I could be there with you," she says instead.

She gets another hug for that, and a brave, "Me, too," with only the barest hint of tears in the corner of those big, blue eyes. It was strikingly similar to the scene when she'd had to tell her daughter she'd been scheduled to work on Halloween, just a couple days after her husband had said the same thing. They'd both done their best to switch shifts with someone, anyone, but it seemed that everyone else had a little darling they just had to take trick-or-treating themselves as well.

After that, there was no way either she, or her husband, could bear to tell Amelia that, in addition to having a babysitter, she also couldn't wear exactly what her little heart desired. They did their best not to cave on things like that very often, but every once in a while you just can't help it.

Amelia lets go of her mommy as their doorbell rings, hopping down from the chair to race over to the door, pretending not to hear her mommy remind her not to run in the house. If she was really Nymphalidae, she could have just flown - sure, everyone, including Nymphalidae, said that the wings didn't -really- work for that, but Amelia had her doubts about that - but she doubts her mommy would've liked that much better.

"Hi, Carly!" she exclaims as she opens the door, giggling a little as she sees her friend's hair, streaked with just about every color of the rainbow. Amelia doesn't have many friends as old as Carly - her mommy still messes up every once in a while and calls Carly her babysitter, even though, as a six year old, Amelia certainly didn't need one of those anymore - but she'd gladly give up all of her friends that were the same age as her to make more. Carly is so smart, and funny, and cool, and everything Amelia wishes she could be, and hopes it won't take her eleven years to become.

"You ready to go get some candy, Ames?" she asks, bending down to get her welcome hug.

Amelia starts to nod as her mommy comes up behind her. "Thanks again, Carly," she says, before pulling her daughter away for one more hug of her own. "Have fun, Amelia," she tells her. "I love you, sweetie."

"I love you, too, mommy," Amelia sniffles. She waves at her as she heads off to work, stares after her for a minute or two before turning to Carly with a nod and a "Uh-huh!"

Carly blinks, confused for just a moment, then she giggles. "Well, where's your bag at?"

Amelia blushes for a moment, unable to believe she'd almost forgotten that - and then what would she have done, just eaten all her candy as she got it? - and hurries back to her room. She turns on her light instinctively, before she can tell herself she doesn't need it, since she can see her bag's face, the jagged smile of a jack-o-lantern, looking at her from the direction of her bed.

Amelia snatches the bag up, briefly noticing a spot of white on the inside of it, the tag mommy had put there, with her address, as if she wouldn't remember it. It's supposed to be there in case she got separated from Carly, so she could find a policeman to take her home, but Amelia knows that would never happen, not unless Carly got herself kidnapped.

Amelia, of course, is too clever for it to happen to -her-, even when she's just a normal little girl. But tonight, she isn't; she's Nymphalidae, and Nymphalidae would never get captured. She would go out and rescue Carly, too, but Amelia isn't entirely sure how to go about doing that. Carly could probably take care of herself, though, so Amelia isn't too worried.

She happens to notice her tennis shoes as her gloved fingers brush against the switch plate, decorated with a sun and a moon, both smiling brightly at her. For a moment, she considers asking Carly if she really has to wear them, or just 'forgetting' them and seeing if she even notices, but she knows it'll be hard enough to convince her friend she doesn't need a coat.

She isn't entirely sure what Nymphalidae wears on her feet, but she doubts it's faded pink sneakers, a few breaths away from falling apart. Mommy kept promising they'd go get her some new ones, but things kept coming up. Not that Amelia minded; these ones were just getting comfy. There weren't many pictures, that Amelia had seen at least, with Nymphalidae's feet in them. Probably, Amelia had always assumed, to hide the fact that she really -was- flying.

There aren't many choices, unfortunately. Mommy wouldn't be happy if she wore her church shoes, and neither would she, since they were really stiff and no fun at all. And black, which just didn't work. She has a pair of flip-flops, but those likely fell to close to the 'barefoot' category to be allowed. And there are always her ballet slippers. She could imagine Nymphalidae wearing them, almost as well as she could imagine her ballet teacher killing her if she found out she'd worn them outside.

So, tennis shoes it would have to be. It only takes her a minute to get them tied, which puts a big smile on her face when she walks up next to Carly, who had migrated to the kitchen table, where she is flipping through the newspaper. The older girl returns the smile, adds in a tickle and a "Took you long enough, Ames."

"My shoes were kinda confusing," Amelia admits.

Carly nods, standing up and grabbing Amelia's coat, which she must have gotten out of the front closet. "They can do that to you if you're not careful," she confides, holding out the coat.

Amelia shakes her head stubbornly. "I don't need it; it's not that cold out! And it won't fit on over my wings." That last part isn't true, since the wings are fairly small, and her coat quite big, so she could 'grow into it' but it could have worked, if Carly hadn't ignored it.

"'fraid it is, Ames." Carly shrugs sympathetically. "Your mom'll kill me if you don't wear it." Amelia's face begins to fall, only to be saved at the last moment with, "But I'll let you take it off when we're actually at a house, okay?" Amelia nods quickly. "It'll be our little secret," Carly winks, helping the little girl into her coat and herding her out the door.

That sounds fair to Amelia. All super heroes have secrets, after all. And, most likely her identity couldn't exactly be hers, since pretty much everyone whose house they'd be at would know who she was, great costume or not. They had last year, and the year before, and probably the one before that, although she couldn't really remember much from back in that ancient history.

Once the front door is closed, Carly takes Amelia's empty hand, and they begin to walk across the lawn. Before they hit the sidewalk, Carly suddenly stops, reaches into her jacket's pocket, pulls out a package of Reese's Cups. "Here," she says with a smile, bending down to stick them into Amelia's bag, "To get you started."

Amelia stops long enough to thank her and give her a hug, but no longer than that - the light is just beginning to fade, ever so slightly, and the sound of giggling kids is all around her. She'd insist the air smelled like Halloween, even though she could never explain just what that smelled like. Dead leaves, perhaps, mixed with the slightest tease of snow, and much more than a hint of chocolate.

It doesn't take long for the bag to grown heavy, and somewhat lopsided - whenever Amelia sets it down so she can take off her coat for the next house, it always tries to fall over. Or it did until she realized she could just lean it against her leg, and that would work pretty well. Of course, she could always stop digging through the candy in between houses, all pretenses of holding Carly's hand so she didn't get snatched from under her nose forgotten in favor of pointing out to her friend all the great stuff she'd gotten so far.

Carly just smiled and nodded, until Amelia realized that she was probably sad she hadn't brought her own bag, so she offered her some of the licorice Old Man Duren had given her, since she didn't like it anyway. Since then, Carly has been smiling, nodding, and chewing. She looks happier, though, and that's good enough for Amelia.

Sure, a few houses just gave out apples, or little boxes of raisins, or dumb stuff like that, but Amelia, an old hat at this trick-or-treating business by now, expected it, had even been practicing pretending to be genuinely happy when she thanked them. The candy far outweighed that junk, and mommy would eat it, she was sure. She likes that sort of boring stuff. She's just weird that way.

The good stuff, the actual candy, what she'd come out here for, far outweighs all the healthy junk, as well it should. There had even been a few people that Amelia would have sworn had tried to pass off baby carrots and oranges as valid Halloween fare the year before who had since seen the light.

"I think we'd better head back, Ames." Amelia looks up from her bag, at first getting ready to break out with her best whining and pleading. She's a little surprised to see how dark it's gotten, starts to shiver at the new chill the air had picked up when she wasn't paying attention.

She glances around quickly before she nods. She doesn't recognize any of the houses, so they probably have a long walk already. And most of them have their outside lights off anyway. She can live without a few more pieces of candy, especially when she thinks adding them might just cause her arm (or maybe the bag) to snap under the weight. Carly, as cool as she is, probably doesn't know how to fix that, and Amelia prefers to avoid the hospital.

All of the sudden, Amelia feels Carly's hand around her arm, jerking her to one side, almost pulling her off balance, if Carly herself wasn't right there to fall against. Before she can protest, however, she hears Carly apologizing profusely, feels her fingers tighten around her coat's sleeve.

Amelia starts to look up curiously, wondering what's gotten into Carly, only to feel her eyes begin to widen, and hear herself give a soft squeal as she sees, not a foot in front of her, the real Nymphalidae, her mask's already constantly shifting colors swirling even faster than normal as she glances back and forth quickly. She gives a bit of a jump at the sound Amelia makes before slowly smiling at the girl's costume.

"Well, hello, there." Amelia hardly notices the thin, sugary-sweet tone the woman is using, quite similar to how her kindergarten teacher always talked the year before. It had annoyed her then, but she doesn't mind it now. Or perhaps she's too busy staring, eyes constantly moving from the mass of colors that is Nymphalidae's wings to the mask, trying to figure out if the colors in the two changed at the same time, since they're both made of the same stuff.

Or so she'd heard on TV. It had said they were some sort of manifestation of her excess power that she could turn off, if she wanted, but it was really hard after she'd used her powers. Amelia couldn't remember back when her mask had just been a regular one, all black and boring, but there'd been some pictures of it on the show. That was back before Nymphalidae had learned to control the manifestation's shape, the TV had said. Amelia's glad she learned, as the new mask is much prettier. She's also glad Nymphalidae decided to stick with the butterfly wings; the TV had also said she'd thought about changing those, once she realized she could, but decided against it since they had become her trademark.

"Hi," Amelia waves shyly, her initial shock and the following bout of rude staring beginning to wear off enough to let her start to edge behind Carly as she tries to move her bag of candy up to hide her costume, which suddenly felt not nearly as cool as it had earlier. Nymphalidae's pants aren't just black jeans, but leather, and they're cut a good bit lower. Her shirt is, too, as a result showing of more of her tummy. The edging of silver around the hems of the shirt are shinier, too, not just flat gray, like Amelia's seem in comparison. Her gloves fit her better, too, as opposed to Amelia's, which were kinda loose, since they could never find any in both the right design and size. And her wings were very definitely -not- cardboard.

"What's your name, hon?" Nymphalidae asks, looking behind her for a moment before bending down a little closer to Amelia with an obviously forced smile.

"Amelia," she answers, her name feeling quite awkward as it pushes through her lips. "Amelia Gibson. But daddy calls me his little bug sometimes."

"Does he now?" Normally, Amelia might pick up on how little attention Nymphalidae is really paying to her answer, but not right now. Right now, she can barely think straight. She hopes she doesn't get asked how old she is; she's pretty sure she's forgotten. Luckily, Nymphalidae simply nods, reaching out to brush a strand of Amelia's hair, just a few shades lighter than her own, away from her face. "You're a very cute little girl," she tells her.

Amelia thinks she hears her voice thanking Nymphalidae, but her head has been spinning since the touch, and the almost electric sensation it had brought with it, spreading rapidly across her face. And, she imagines, down to the rest of her body, except that it seems to have vanished, leaving floating, like she's in a pool, without the water, or the water-wings. It's not an unpleasant feeling, but she's happy when it begins to fade.

She blinks a couple times, and, seeing that Nymphalidae is gone, turns to Carly so she can start to gush about how amazing that was, her first rehearsal of the story that she was sure nobody in her class would believe. But Carly isn't there, either.

Oh no... Had she been kidnapped after all? Amelia glances all around her, hoping her friend is just hiding, playing a trick on her, since it is Halloween after all. She begins to rub her hands against the sides of her legs as she begins to realize that isn't the case, feeling very small and all alone. And, she notices, seeing as both her hands are free now, completely candy-less. They'd stolen her bag, too, the fiends! They must -really- be evil.

But what can she do about it? She's not even sure where she is! Her gaze drifts downward, growing blurry as it is covered in tears, until she hurriedly reaches up to wipe it clean, mouth dropping open. Sure enough, free of obstruction, the view is still exactly the same, not some strange trick of her mind. She moves a little, lifting up her hands, hopping up and down, shaking her head. The body responds to all of her commands, as if it is her own.

But it isn't. At least... It's not the same one she had just a few minutes ago. She reaches tentatively behind her, and then up to her face, hands shaking now, feeling a weird buzz of energy in both places that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She tries to glance behind her, sees a hint of color back there. She turns in a circle a couple times, hoping for a better look, but the most she can see is a flash or two. Then again, that's enough.

This isn't her body. This is Nymphalidae's.

"Whoa," she whispers, shocked at the voice the word is spoken in, the voice she's used to hearing on the television. She can't think of any cool catch phrases or anything, since Nymphalidae always seems to shy away from that sort of thing, so instead she just says, "Evildoers, beware!" before breaking down into giggles. "This is so cool!"

She hops up and down a few times, clapping her hands, until she remembers that grown-ups don't do that sort of thing, and she forces herself to stand still, though she still finds herself quivering with excitement, as if she'd just eaten all the candy in her bag. And, who knows? Maybe she had. Maybe that's what happened, and that's why grown-ups always tell kids not to eat all their Halloween candy all at once. She can't imagine why that would turn her into Nympalidae, except if, just maybe, -she'd- done the same thing, and that's where she got her powers. Maybe they could team up, and fight crime together, and they'd have a cool name, not something stupid like The Guardians. They'd be... Well, they could think of that later!

An idea strikes her, and she holds out her hands, pointing them towards an errant, surely evil, light post, already giggling in anticipation of getting to watch herself send out beams of color, just like she'd seen Nymphalidae do on TV, to grab it and yank it out of the ground. She's not sure what she'll do with it after that, but surely she'll think of something. Nymphalidae always does, even if she tends to wait until the last second to do it.

As it turns out, she doesn't have to worry about it, because nothing happens. A frown grows on her face as she shakes her hands a couple times, but they continue to be nothing but normal, if bigger than she's used to, hands. She pouts for a few moments, wondering if she's been wrong. Maybe she doesn't have powers after all... Maybe she just got older somehow, but is just the same old boring Amelia.

It's still not too bad, she tells herself. At least she's a grown-up now. Amy would never believe it when she told her about it at school tomorrow. But, then, grown-ups didn't go to school. Not unless they're teachers, and Amelia isn't smart enough to be one of those. Plus, she doesn't know if there are any empty rooms at the school for her to live in.

She shakes her hands one more time, hopefully. Still nothing. She stomps her foot angrily, tears starting to well up in her eyes, before her mind suddenly recalls something else from the TV. It had mentioned something about Nymphalidae being teleke-whatsits, and the streams of light just helped her to focus her real powers. It was a bit like that, anyway. She'd asked daddy about the tele-thing, though she'd probably gotten the word wrong, since he looked at her blankly for a little while before giving some vague answer about how it was some sort of mind power.

Of course, he could have been making that up, since it certainly didn't -look- like Nymphalidae was using her mind. He'd told her he was feeling tired from work that day, after all.

Still, it's worth a shot. She starts to concentrate on the light post really hard. She gives a little squeal as it blinks, then goes out, until she remembers that isn't Nymphalidae's power, not at all, and probably not hers, either. Must just be a coincidence, she sighs, turning away from it in frustration. All of the other street lights are out, too, in that direction.

She shivers, staring up at the sky, wishing the moon would hurry up and come out. She knows she shouldn't be afraid of the dark, even if she's just a normal grown-up, but that doesn't stop it from making her uneasy. She turns around again, just in time to see the last visible street light there flicker out as well.

"That's prolly not good..." she whispers, barely able to hear herself over the pounding of her heart.

"No," a gravelly voice answers from behind her. "It really isn't." She starts to turn; her legs seem to have stopped working, like she's been nailed to the spot.

That's when the pain starts, burning through her feet. In the dark, she can't quite tell what's happening, but it almost looks like a pair of big, electric wires poking through her boots, under which the sidewalk had begun to crack.

"What're you doing?!" she squeaks, stomach twisting as the tears finally start to fall. The wires begin to snake up further, winding around her legs. "D-Don't hurt me..."

"Oh, I won't hurt you," the man the voice belongs to steps around in front of her with a sneer, hands and eyes crackling with electricity. "Why would I want to hurt you?"

Luckily, Amelia's throat seizes up as she recognizes him, since she doesn't realize it was a rhetorical question that probably didn't have any good answer. She'd seen the beginning of his last fight with Nymphalidae, until her mommy made her stop watching. Still, on the news the night after, she'd seen a little more, and heard about the rest. None of it's anything he's likely to have forgotten.

The wires have wound upwards almost to her chest now, squeezing her ever tighter, until she can barely breathe, much less beg for him to stop. "Are you crying?" he mocks, shaking his head. "My, how the mighty have fallen." The ends of the wires start to rear back, like snakes preparing to strike, aiming at her chest. "Perhaps I should just put you out of your misery."

Somehow, she gets enough air in her lungs to give out a small, "Please..."

He shrugs. "If you insist," he smiles, and the wires shoot forward. She closes her eyes instinctively.

She reluctantly opens them a second later. A huge smile breaks out across her face. She was right after all; the wings -do- work.

And as she looks down at the scene, she can almost swear she sees her old body there, without its cardboard wings, hiding behind a fence. It looks so small, and scared, she almost wants to go comfort it, but something inside her tells her to keep going up instead. So she does, with one last look down at herself.

Her body is shivering, eyes wide. It almost throws up, stomach violently spasming, and the person inside wonders briefly if that's her reaction, or the body's. Sometimes there was a bit of leftover reflex that she can't quite control, not as far as she knows, anyway. Then again, her powers hadn't exactly come with an instruction book, unfortunately.

She hears footsteps walking away, looks up to see Dynamo coming towards her. She's not in the habit of thinking of anyone as her "arch-nemesis", though she might be changing her mind about that after this. Sure, some woman she'd later found out was his wife had gotten killed, but that was only because she got in the middle of their fight, the idiot. It wasn't like that was totally, or even, most likely, even partially her fault, and she'd -still- issued a public apology anyway. Yes, it was a formality, an easy way for the court system to avoid figuring out how to deal with the situation, since it's not like they could expect her to actually go to jail, but still. It was probably more than Dynamo would give for this, the vindictive asshole.

Nymphalidae flattens herself against the fence, waiting for him to walk past her, too cocky to bother looking behind him. She concentrates, readying herself to send him flying into the side of the house across the road, which should, at least, slow him down long enough for her to let her power recharge for her next assault. They were always a fair bit weaker after switching bodies - not that it had mattered for getting away from the girl's dumb babysitter, who was probably still looking for her, after she'd blinded her for a moment, just long enough to slip away, so she could follow her own body.

The element of surprise... It should've been what gave her the advantage against Dynamo. It should've made him sorry he let her get so far ahead of him. It should've won the fight for her. But it hadn't worked out that way. She expected him to take a little longer, to savor his 'victory' a little longer. Well, whatever. She's still going to win, and the same way.

Except nothing happens. "Oh, come on," she hisses, clearing her mind to try again, trying to work faster as she sees Dynamo turn. "Damn it..." So much for surprise.

Her second try fails as well, and then Dynamo is on her. She starts to put up her fists, which makes him laugh. "I think you'd better find a new hero, kid," he says, and then has the nerve to reach over and muss up her hair.

She slugs him. She'd never been the best fighter; being in the body of some kid doesn't help. He shakes his head, gives her a seemingly effortless shove, knocking her onto her butt with a slight squish. "Trust me, kid, she had it coming." She tries to get to her feet, but slips on a shoelace she hadn't noticed was untied and ends up back on the ground. "You'd better be running on home," he advises, walking off again. "All kinds of ghosts and goblins running around tonight."

She tries one more time to stand up, but doesn't even make it far enough to fall before feeling herself start to cry, sinking down the the ground to do so. It has to be this body, she tells herself. That has to be it. She should have gone for the babysitter, but no, she had to choose the kid who'd stroked her ego by dressing up like her.

It takes a little while to get it under control, a little longer to get it to stand up, to go back to check her own body, to make sure Dynamo had finished the job after all, and she isn't just getting worked up over nothing big. But there's no doubt about it. She tries her powers one more time, but they seem to have vanished.

Well, that's just perfect. Now what's she going to do? She can't exactly go home like this... Her roommate doesn't know that she's Nymphalidae, though she's pretty sure she suspects as much. Even so, there were about a million better, and less embarrassing, ways she'd prefer to break the news. Just wandering around the streets alone isn't much of a plan, either, not in this body. Even if the police believed her story, seeing as she doesn't have her powers to prove her identity, they aren't exactly fond of her, nor she of them. And holing up in a hotel doesn't work when all you don't have any money on you, just a bag of candy.

Speaking of which, she recalls seeing some sort of tag on the inside of it, with something written on it. An address, she thinks, though she isn't certain. It's worth a shot, anyway. And she should probably explain things to the parents of the girl - what was her name? Amelia? She didn't have to do it often, but even so, she'd always considered dealing with hysterical parents the hardest part of her job. They just could never listen to reason. They kept asking questions, and making accusations, and generally being very annoying. They could never just shut up, accept that it wasn't -her- fault, and let her be.

Still, maybe she'd get lucky. Maybe these ones were sensible, and -would- believe her when she told them how this wasn't her fault, and, if they let her stay with them for a few days, she'd figure out what to do next, how to make the person whose really -was- to blame pay. It's better than standing around in the cold, anyway, so she goes back to where she'd stashed the candy and the horridly uncomfortable wings. How had the girl stood to wear them all night?

The walk isn't too long, although the bag of candy is starting to get heavy by the time she makes it to the address in the bag. She doesn't even make it to the front door before a woman comes running up, grabbing her in a huge hug, lifting her off the ground. "Oh, you're okay, baby!"

She doesn't have time to say anything before she is whisked inside, where a worried looking man is sitting at the kitchen table with the babysitter from before, whose eyes are now very red, as if she'd been crying. She gives a gasp as she sees the girl.

"I'm so sorry," she starts to blubber. "I don't know what happened, I just blanked out for a second, and you were gone!"

"I-It's okay," Nymphalidae says uncertainly. She should be telling them what happened, but she'd rather not be in some woman's arms while she does it, so she asks, "Will you put me down, please?" Amelia's mother nods and does so, but pulls her close, hands petting the girl's hair. It's not much better, though it would do, so she sets down the candy and the wings and opens her mouth.

"I'll drive you home," the father tells the babysitter. "It's getting late."

The babysitter nods miserably. "All right," she sniffles. "I-I can still babysit, though, right? I mean... It was just an accident... It won't happen again... I'm sorry about making you guys come back from work, but I wasn't sure what else to do. I-I..." She breaks off, clearly about to start bawling again. Nymphalidae rolls her eyes a little - what a crybaby.

The father looks over to the mother, then back at the babysitter. "We'll see," he says finally, and the two of them leave.

The mother gives Nymphalidae another hug. "Don't you -ever- do that to me again."

She should be telling her the truth. She knows she should, but instead she finds herself returning the hug, mumbling, "All right."

"You don't know how badly you scared me, baby," the mother continues, kneeling down in front of her. "I love you so much, baby; I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

Nymphalidae's mouth opens and closes a few times, as an unbidden tear crawls down her cheek, stopped only by the woman's gentle finger. "I-I'm sorry," she chokes out finally.

"It's all right," the woman soothes her, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "I bet you were pretty scared, huh?"

Nymphalidae finds herself nodding, lower lip trembling.

"Well, you're home now." Nymphalidae feels herself getting hugged yet again, for what feels like an eternity. It does end, though, with a question. "It's way past your bedtime, isn't it?"

Nymphalidae doesn't know, but she suspects the girl would have to go to bed fairly early, so she nods. The mother stares at her when she just stands there uncertainly, until finally she goes back towards where the bedrooms probably were, easily finding the explosion of pink that is Amelia's room.

'What are you doing?' she asks herself. 'Just tell her! You can't keep stringing her along like this! It's only going to make it worse!'

But, no matter how long she stands with her hand on the doorknob, she can't bring herself to open the door, to go tell the woman what had happened to the real Amelia. So, instead, she goes over to the dresser, quickly finding some pink, fuzzy pajamas, and slipping out of the costume. As horrible an approximation of her real costume as it is, she still finds it difficult to take it off, especially while looking at the childish sleepwear waiting to replace it. A knock at the door, followed by the mother's reminder that she still needs to brush her teeth, manages to coax her into getting changed, however.

The mother is waiting for her outside the bathroom door when she's done brushing her teeth. Part of Nymphalidae's mind screams at her to stop this stupid charade, to just tell her the truth, but the loving smile on the woman's face as she leads the girl she thinks is her daughter back to bed, and then tucks her in, keeps the confession buried inside.

"Goodnight, Amelia," the woman gives her one last kiss on the forehead. "I love you so much, baby."

The father follows a few minutes later, repeats the same thing. Maybe she really -is- just tired, but she believes it. Maybe that's why she doesn't hop out of bed and tell them; she isn't sure. There has to be something keeping her there, keeping her from breaking their hearts.

After a few minutes she hears the television turn on. The sound flickers a couple times as they change channels, before finally stopping on what sounds like the news. She listens blankly to the weather for the next week, trying to will herself to get it over with.

Then another voice comes in, with a story that begins with, "Tragedy struck tonight..." Nymphalidae knows it's about her even before they mention her name, decides that this is a sign. She forces herself to push back the covers, to hop down to the floor. The reporter has almost gotten to -how- she died by the time she pushes the door open, though the voice dies as soon as she steps through, and she winces a little. They must have heard her.

Still, she has to do this. She doesn't have a choice. So she walks out to the living room, where Amelia's mother and father are sitting on the couch, obviously waiting for her.

"Couldn't sleep, little bug?" the father asks.

"I-I have to tell you something," she clears her throat, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor in front of her.

"What is it, honey?" the mother asks.

That's when she makes the fatal mistake of glancing up, letting herself really see their faces, and the love and care and warmth so clear on them. She tries to make herself keep going anyway, but what comes out of her mouth instead is, "I-I love you."

"We love you, too, baby," her mother smiles, then pats the couch between her and her husband. "You want to come sit with us for a while?"

She nods, crawls up next to them. She could always tell them tomorrow, she supposes, cuddling up against them, surprised to find her eyelids starting to drift closed. Yeah, she resolves, with a huge yawn; tomorrow would be just fine. Or maybe the day after. Surely, her parent would understand. They seem like such nice people...

She drifts off to sleep, curled up on the couch, barely noticing her thumb slowly moving towards her mouth. She'd had the strangest daydream today. She had been a super hero. Or had she been a little girl? It's hard to remember those things, when the mists of slumber are so heavy around you. Maybe she'll remember in the morning. Or maybe it will just fade away, like so many dreams do.

You never can tell.