I opened the glass and inserted a charming butterfly. He always hangs around my web - my butterfly is curious about my web, and soon - he dances with me on my web - you know? My butterflies flew away and he took my cobwebs with him. But I didn't feel angry - he was probably flapping his wings in a corner. The claws of the plants will help him to hook up the web of my sin - I no longer have the interest in weaving a web. The corner of the glass curls up with a bit of my incomplete spider silk - what makes me incomplete, my butterfly, is it me?