Cathedral of light

A monarch butterfly landed on the window. Its wings rose and fell slowly before it flew away.

He lifted his brush to the glass and painted another one. The texture wasn’t quite right, and as the butterfly took flight, it altered the texture of the sky itself.

The butterfly drifted through the air, turning the rest of reality into paint. He watched from behind the window as the world became a canvas.

After a few hours, he grasped the window. The butterfly beat its wings once more, then froze within the painting.

He struck a match at one corner. The window caught fire, slowly burning from edge to edge. As it burned, the painting transformed into stained glass.

The colors shifted. The texture changed.

He carried the glass onto his boat and lowered it into the water as he rowed. The colors began to trail behind it, streaking through the lake.

The trail grew and shifted as the glass creaked.

He rowed in a wide circle, and by the time he returned to where he started, the growing glass had begun forming a structure.

A cathedral-like building floated in the center of the lake—unfinished, still building itself.

The glass continued to grow, creak, and fracture, breaking where it needed space, reshaping itself into strength.

As the day waned, the structure completed itself just as the final ray of light struck its highest point.

Light refracted through every edge of the cathedral and, at its center, traced a circle etched with runes.

He sat within the circle and read the runes aloud. His voice echoed upward, reaching the highest arches.

When the echo returned, the glass began to collapse inward—folding, bending, breaking.

He looked up at the first star in the night sky and read the runes again as everything around him crumbled.

The runes lifted from the ground and moved into his hand. Being made of light, their passage burned the air and flesh alike, carving their way into the center of his palm.

He stepped back onto the boat as the cathedral floor fell away. All the glass condensed into a single jewel, which he caught with his other hand while still watching the star.

Holding the jewel and raising his glowing palm toward the sky, he recited the runes one final time.

A beam of light—captured just before the day ended—burst from his hand and reached the star. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his fingers around the beam and pulled.

Something heavy moved within it. A knot of night emerged from the light. He drew it close, placed the jewel between the knot and the star, and released it.

Back at the house, he set the jewel before a candle. After years of searching for the right one, a memory began to play.

And for a moment, he felt close again to his wife, who had passed away—

turning into a glowing fish as a tear slipped through the reflection.