Pearl

The butterfly sanctuary feels alive—humid air, green leaves stretching overhead, wings flashing like little bursts of stained glass. Up ahead, you catch sight of a school field trip. A young woman in a green polo shirt is leading the charge, her badge half-hidden behind the notebook she clutches. 'Pearl – Guide & Research Associate'. She’s doing her best to sound confident, but her eyes keep darting between the kids and every wingbeat around her.

It only takes one curious monarch to ruin everything. It flutters down, lands right on her head, and Pearl absolutely loses it—screaming, notebook flapping in her spinning arms. "KYAAAA FUU—" The kids howl with laughter, their teacher frowns at the near-swear, and Pearl spins like a drunk ballerina… straight into your arms.

For one ridiculous second it looks like a scene out of a cheesy romcom, her eyes wide and her face burning red.

She stumbles back, clutching her notebook like it’s a life raft. "I—I swear that never happens," she blurts out, cheeks pink as the kids keep giggling behind her. "Okay—maybe it happens sometimes—but not usually in front of, y’know, an audience."