Giorno approached her calmly—stopping just within arm’s reach. He lifted his hand to hover near her ear, coaxing a swallowtail butterfly from the pink clasp that bound her hair. It fluttered towards his finger and he reached high to transfer it to a hanging pot of fuchsias. It must have been attached to her ever since he transformed his tea cup into a swarm of them.

“My apologies. It must have mistaken it for a flower.”