404 rarely was seen in our location. Something about the nature of the fog that hovers from the ground to your waistline. No reports of 404 had ever been made during our harvest rainy season.

Mindlessly, I grabbed a jacket to shield from the large drops of rain now falling. 404 is not known for patience, one must scurry if one is to catch 404.

Breathlessly, the last stair had been climbed. Water cascading off the sides of the platform like a raging waterfall. Beautiful, if only it wasn’t so dangerous to be out here on the platform in these storms.

A single silhouette stood near the single illumination point. Over their head was a wide, deeply draping downwards, black umbrella. Water dripping off of each rib in a constant stream of silver streaks. Glittering as the illumination points refracted across its surface.

It was not 404, Sans himself that stood there in the rain. Wearing his scarf, slightly covering his mouth. True to Sans, always that great big smile.

Without turning to face me, Sans began speaking.

Only when the winds turn cold, the clouds open and winter has not yet frozen everything in sheets of ice. Only then do these creatures come out.

They are such an amazing show of power. Their greatest achievement and their most glorious phase of life, only happens for them when they have reached their final end stage.

They give everything they have, and in the end. The multiverse takes its claim. The multiverse always wins in this case. Death is the final ending of this kind of power.

Slowly, carefully to ensure what ever he wanted to show me, Sans turned. His eyes and smile were tender for a moment before the butterfly took flight. His smile somehow looked genuinely amused somehow by this tiny creature.

Sans eyes changed once the butterfly was out of sight. They hatch out once per year here. The only place I have ever seen them in existence. He continued.

Power can be so devastatingly beautiful in the Butterfly, can it not? Sans then peered through me.

Do you have my crate of butterflies Sans asked impatiently.

I nodded yes, he motioned that I load them in the hold that was open.

Turning to say goodbye to Sans, he had already departed.

I’ll never forget the year, Sans came to visit for our All Hallows’ hatch.

His smile is real.