hunter of butterflies

[mestika]

She stumbles into the garden as if she'd fallen from somewhere else, and scrambles quickly to her feet, her hair wild around her, a butterfly net clutched in one hand. Then she stops and looks at the garden, her dark eyes cautious

Comments

[colored_gowns]

Mrs Strange pauses. "Are you alright?"

[mestika]

A white woman.

"Yes," Jewel says. Her English is blunter than her native Malaysian, has a rougher quality to it, but isn't unfriendly.

have I told you lately that I love you?

[colored_gowns]

"Very well," she says, and smiles.

[mestika]

"Do you live here?"

[colored_gowns]

"It would certainly seem that way."

[mestika]

"I did not know there was a living-place here."

[colored_gowns]

"O, yes. A house. I believe you can see it from here--" She turns and points.

[mestika]

"I see." Jewel is silent, then, moving the butterfly net in her hands. "Do you know Mr. Stein?"

[colored_gowns]

"I am afraid not."

[mestika]

"Do you live here alone?"

[colored_gowns]

"O, no. There are a great many people here."

[mestika]

"It is--a city?"

[colored_gowns]

"No, a house. It is magic."

[mestika]

"Magic?" She understands magic. There were a thousand kinds of superstitions in the village. "This is how a house of people in the jungle? Are you all English?"

[colored_gowns]

"Well, it isn't really the jungle. There is a forest, is that the same? And no, not all. Where have you come from, if I may?"

[mestika]

"The jungle is different." A frown. "From Mr. Stein's house."