Dancing with Butterflies

She picked bouquets of paper flowers as grandeur whispered poignant secrets in her fragmented thoughts. They were magical enigmas, beautiful words which made listening to them easy. She was floating in a delusional world, a chaotic expanse of an absent mind, soaring among the stars. Reality was an illusion; a long-forgotten memory and an old friend, lost in the passing of time. Her grasp on sanity was a mangled hallucination and a deception of immortal ideas from a reason abandoned. Dying, she danced with the butterflies of true madness.

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