“I removed my hands,” I finally say. We stand slightly leaning towards each other - as if a step before the attack, as if we are going to jump, attacking.

- The pulse quickened. What are you afraid of? By the end of the sentence, Elena raises her voice, almost shouting a question. — Not me, no. Where did you see her, Anya? Where is this butterfly?

- Let go. Quickly — starting to get angry, I already resign myself to the idea that we will have to fight, but Elena again confuses me, removing her hands and raising them, as if giving up.

Was she painted? Real? Anya, please,...