The Fate Of Queenelia's Offsprings

Chapter One : Beauty is Also In the eyes of the Beautiful.

Once upon a time in the miniature land of Insectopia, all the insects lived safe from the unforgiving, deadly, Outerworld. No one dared to leave the city or even think of leaving as there was a dreadful fate awaiting those who'd dare to. A fate called," Not returning". Insectopia was a "safe haven", if you may, Or was it?

As true as there are two sides on every coin, Insectopia was no different coin in it's own right. Safe it appeared but glory was only for a select few. All based on how one looked in the presence of others. It is because most insects had plain coloured outfits which were tied to them for eternity while others were dressed in absolute magnanimity to show all their lives. At the top of this mountain, Queenelia held her flag and showing off was a way of life for her.

Flapping the wings to show their majestic beauty was always a flex for Queenelia, the mother Butterfly. All insects would feel abased around her. And as fate would have it, they hoped and prayed for her to have ugly offsprings when the time comes for her to show them her kids.

Chapter Two: The Chrysalis of Change

When the time came, Queenelia laid her eggs atop the highest blossom of the Grand Petal Palace — the only flower in Insectopia that bloomed with shimmering petals dipped in moonlight. As expected, a ceremony followed. The entire city buzzed in anticipation to witness the hatching of what was sure to be the next most beautiful beings the city had ever known.

And indeed, when the first eggs hatched, the young butterflies emerged in glowing hues of sapphire, jade, and sun-gold. The crowd gasped. "Marvelous!" cried the Dapper Dragonflies. “A true reflection of Her Radiance,” said the Painted Ladybugs, bowing.

But as the hatching continued, something strange occurred.

A few of Queenelia’s offspring emerged… differently.

Their wings weren’t radiant. They bore gentle shades — soft grays, muted whites, and velvety browns. They shimmered not in sunlight but glowed mysteriously under the moon. They did not flutter with the same boastful pride as their siblings, but flew with quiet grace, preferring the calm of dusk over the drama of day.

Queenelia was… horrified.

“These,” she hissed privately to her advisors, “are not butterflies. These are mistakes.”

The crowd didn’t know what to say. The queen quickly cloaked the “imperfect” children from the public eye, naming them “Twilights,” and told the world they had flown off to distant lands for training. But in truth, she exiled them to the dimmest corners of the kingdom, where light barely reached and vanity rarely dared to visit.

Chapter Three: The Veil Between Us

Time passed. The kingdom flourished, but not all were content. The butterflies, once admired, became increasingly proud. They looked down upon those who weren’t born with dazzling colors — the ants, the beetles, the stick insects. Soon, they stopped attending the communal pollen feasts, claiming the flowers were too “common.” The butterflies built platforms higher and higher in the city’s tallest branches, away from the rest.

Queenelia, old now, ruled from her perch with mirror-polished wings and judgment in her eyes. She believed she had made her mark — a world where beauty ruled. But deep within her, something hollow ached.

One day, a great storm swept through Insectopia. The winds tore through the tall blossoms. Flowers bent and broke. The glittering homes of the butterflies were the first to fall, crashing like glass petals. Panic spread. The butterflies, unaccustomed to hardship, flailed in the chaos. Their bright wings were too fragile in the torrential rains.

And then… out of the shadows came figures cloaked in softness.

The Twilights.

Their wings, built for night and storm, glided easily through the winds. They gathered fallen insects, cradled the hurt, and sheltered the young beneath their wide, fur-lined wings. No longer hidden, they worked not for glory, but for kindness.

Chapter Four: The Mirror Cracks

When the storm passed, the city was changed. Many butterflies, once vain and dismissive, looked upon their forgotten siblings with awe. These Twilights, these… moths, had become beautiful in a way Queenelia had never taught them to see.

Ashamed, Queenelia called for the moths and, for the first time in her life, bowed her wings before anyone. She looked at one in particular — a soft-winged moth named Nox, her youngest.

“I only saw beauty in light,” the Queen whispered, “but in this darkness, you showed me the truth.”

Nox smiled gently. “You cannot see the good in others,” he said, “until you have found goodness in yourself.”

Chapter Five: Insectopia’s New Glow

From that day forward, Insectopia changed. Beauty was no longer a measure of wingspan or shimmer, but of character. Moths and butterflies worked side by side. Twilight festivals were born, celebrating the quiet glow of moonlit wings and the warm touch of compassion.

Queenelia, aged but wiser, became a symbol of change — no longer the ruler of beauty, but the keeper of balance. And when she finally laid down her crown, she asked for one thing to be etched on her monument:

“The eye sees beauty, but the heart must first be beautiful to recognize it.”

And so, the moths came to be — not born of shame, but of unseen light — and Insectopia learned that sometimes, the most radiant glow is the one that doesn’t seek to be seen.

Comments