Jeff opened his eyes and gazed across the table at the heap of broken cage bits in the corner of his lab. He took a shuddering breath and swallowed hard.

For as long as he had seen specimens die in intelligence projects, or observed ants carry away plump caterpillars, he couldn't comprehend what had happened. People were meant to be the observers right? Never were they the victims... never...

Why did this happen to his friends? Why them?

He paused for a moment, and wiped his tears from his eyes with his sleeve.

Why should this be any different?

He reached into his pocket and fell back to the only thing that could comfort him: his research.

He pulled out a small notebook and a pen. Flipping the cover open, he jotted down his concluding notes on the magic butterflies. “Feeds on psychic energy. Lays eggs with euphoric properties in the nasal, aural, and oral openings of the host. Proceeds through all three stages of metamorphosis before exiting the host body,"

His hand shook as he wrote.

"Hardly magic at all.”