The screen flickers to life at frame zero. The light is that honey-thick gold of a 5:00 PM summer in a place that doesn't exist.
A young girl, rendered in the soft, slightly blurred edges of a memory, runs through a field of tall, white grass. She isn't using a net. Instead, she holds a weathered wooden box, its lid cracked open just a sliver. fetching_butterflies_0038.mp4
The butterflies aren't typical. They are shards of stained glass, translucent and humming with the sound of distant wind chimes. They don't flutter so much as they glitch through the air, leaving trails of iridescent dust that hang for a second too long before evaporating. The screen flickers to life at frame zero