A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 78

Walking down the long corridor, Ilex entered his grandfather’s bedroom for the first time in a long while and looked around the room with a faintly unfamiliar expression.

The former duke’s bedroom was impeccably clean, without a speck of dust, yet it felt strangely sparse to the point of emptiness.

But that wasn’t because the room had lost its owner. Rather, it was simply due to the taste of the room’s original occupant.

The former Duke, Preston, had never been fond of cluttering his space with excessive furniture. Even so, the reason Essentine Mansion was adorned with such extravagant decorations was entirely thanks to the preferences of the wife he had loved so dearly.

Ilex turned his head slightly and gazed at the portrait hanging opposite the four-poster bed. In the otherwise starkly simple bedroom, only the portrait of the former duke and duchess stood out with any real presence.

Was it because he had loved his younger son so deeply? Or had he come to know an unbearable truth about his son’s accident?

After his second son, Kenneth Davenport, perished in an unforeseen carriage accident, Agatha, weakened by illness, lay bedridden for a long time before passing away.

After his wife left this world, it was as if Preston Davenport had been waiting for that moment. He promptly handed over his title to his eldest son and spent the rest of his days living in this mansion.

Unlike the typical noble couples of Arkansis, the former duke and duchess were said to have loved each other deeply.

But Ilex had never seen them share a smile while looking into each other’s eyes, nor had he ever witnessed them walking hand in hand. His grandmother, Agatha Davenport, had passed away before her second grandson was even born.

Thus, what Ilex remembered was not their love for each other, but the sight of his grandfather wandering the hallways, staring wistfully at the portraits of his wife and younger son.

Perhaps due to his longing, the mansion was filled with numerous portraits.

Preston had always risen early in the morning, despite having no official duties. The first thing he did upon waking was to visit the portraits scattered throughout the mansion and speak to them.

“Did you sleep well, Agatha? Did you have good dreams, Kenneth?”

Though no reply ever came, his affectionate voice, as if addressing the living, still echoed vividly in Ilex’s ears.

The weighty footsteps of his grandfather, roaming the bedrooms, stair landings, hallways, and drawing rooms to greet the paintings of his wife and son.

The ashen gaze of an old man, staring quietly at the young version of himself smiling without a single wrinkle, standing beside his beloved wife and son.

Though Ilex had been young, he had understood that within those voices and footsteps lay a sorrowful longing, thick as mud.

His grandmother had left this world at a relatively young age. His grandfather had endured the rest of his life by continuing his unanswered morning greetings.

And so, when Preston finally brought an end to that long waiting, Ilex looked upon his coffin with a heart not of sorrow, but of relief.

Now, he would finally receive a reply. Now, he could finally touch the cheeks of the people he had so longed for.

Now, the grandfather who had suffered for years, unable to exhaust the love that tormented him, could finally be embraced by those he had missed so dearly, proving the sincerity of his love.

Some deaths were not a tragedy, but a blessing. Grief belonged only to those left behind. More than the loneliness of finally being alone, what had felt stronger was the relief that his grandfather had finally stepped into the world of the portraits.

After staring at the portrait above the fireplace for a while—the one where the former duke and duchess held hands with gentle smiles—Ilex slowly turned and walked toward the bureau desk by the window.

Like the other furnishings in the bedroom, the bureau desk was elegant and antique. Ilex opened a drawer and retrieved a small box from inside.

Inside the slightly faded box lay a butterfly-shaped ring, adorned with resplendent amethysts.

Long ago, when his grandfather still roamed the mansion with steady steps, he had personally placed this keepsake into his grandson’s hand.

Now, after a long time, the ring, once again seeing the sunlight, seemed to shimmer fiercely, as if begging not to be left in the dark but to be worn and displayed.

As he stared at the ring scattering brilliant traces of light into the air, Ilex slowly lifted his gaze back to the portrait.

“Grandfather.”

Gently stroking the smooth surface of the gleaming butterfly ring, Ilex muttered, his voice unintentionally carrying a slight grumble.

“You never mentioned that the butterfly might hate me.”

Ilex received that ring on a spring day when he was around seven years old.

Unlike the strict Davenport main estate, where stern nannies and maids constantly kept watch, the Essentine estate had many places for a child to explore. More precisely, there were many places where a child was allowed to go.

A glass greenhouse filled with beautiful flowers in every season, an attic cluttered with all sorts of odds and ends, a backyard full of trees perfect for climbing, and a garden with a cool fountain.

Ilex could go to all these places freely without needing permission. It was something he could never even dream of at the main estate, where his father and brother resided.

But that wasn’t all. Essentine held something even more important—something that didn’t exist at the main house.

A large hand that stroked his hair. A warm presence that embraced him instead of pushing him away. His grandfather.

In truth, the greenhouse and the garden were just an excuse. What Ilex truly liked was the annex where the elder who praised his perfect test scores resided. That was why he visited every day.

That particular day, however, was unusual—his grandfather had gone out. The child, waiting eagerly for his return, played in the fountain, splashing water with his hands.

That was when he noticed it. A beautiful butterfly caught in a spider’s web, struggling in vain.

“Ilex, what are you doing?”

A warm hand rested on Ilex’s shoulder. The boy, who had been crushing a spider under his shoe, turned his head to look at his grandfather.

“I was saving the butterfly.”

Hearing this, Preston turned his gaze to the butterfly held delicately in the child’s small hands. Then, his eyes moved downward to the squashed black spiders beneath the boy’s gleaming shoes.

“Oh dear.”

Clicking his tongue softly, Preston spoke again, his tone regretful.

“So the spider was trying to eat the butterfly.”

“Yes.”

Ilex’s blue-gray eyes gleamed cruelly as he stomped down hard on the already flattened spiders.

“Filthy spiders should die. They dared to try and eat the pretty butterfly.”

As if that wasn’t enough, he twisted his heel, grinding the carcasses into the ground. The small but pure brutality of the act left the spiders’ legs and heads completely detached.

Preston, watching his grandson’s actions in silence, finally spoke, his voice slow and deliberate.

“But it looks like you killed more than just one spider.”

“Other spiders might try to go after the butterfly too. So I found all the ones nearby and killed them all.”

Beaming proudly, the boy grinned, revealing his teeth. However, Preston did not return his grandson’s bright smile. Instead, he simply gazed at him with deep contemplation.

“Ilex.”

After a long silence, Preston finally spoke, hesitating for a moment before continuing.

“You seem to like butterflies very much.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you like them?”

“Because they’re pretty. And they have wings.”

“So that’s why you saved it. Then what do you plan to do now?”

Hearing this unexpected question, Ilex tilted his head and looked up at his grandfather. After a brief moment of thought, the child, as if having found the perfect answer, raised his voice with confidence.

“I’m going to put it in a cage! So no other bugs can eat it!”

“But butterflies need to eat and rest too.”

“I’ll put lots of honey and flowers inside. I’ll make sure it can rest comfortably.”

“But, Ilex, do you think the butterfly would want that?”

As he peered excitedly at the butterfly, the boy furrowed his brow, as if his grandfather had just spoiled his fun. Preston gently smoothed out the crease between his grandson’s brows as he spoke again.

“Ilex, love isn’t like that.”

“…Then what is it?”

“It’s about letting go. Let the butterfly go, Ilex. So that it can live freely.”

“But if I do that, it might die.”

“Then you can watch over it from afar.”

“But if I do that, the butterfly won’t know that I was the one protecting it.”

“Oh, Ilex.”

Preston chuckled softly as he stroked his grandson’s sulking cheek.

“What matters more—whether the butterfly knows your feelings, or the fact that you love it?”

The child did not answer. It was the kind of silence that came from knowing the right answer but not wanting to accept it. Preston, understanding this, smiled once more.

“My dear grandson. You take after Kenneth. I know that you have a kinder heart than anyone else.”

Placing his hand over his still-pouting grandson’s, Preston whispered, “Don’t become like your father, Ilex. Don’t become like Edmund.”

Those words, spoken like an incantation, softened Ilex’s heart.

With an exasperated sigh, the boy turned away from his grandfather. Then, after a brief moment of hesitation, he loosened his fingers, gently releasing the butterfly’s wings.