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In the past, a butterfly flew through the fields of flowers in search of a suitable plant for pollination. It was unwavering in this pursuit, displaying a level of dedication that set it apart from other insects. However, when it encountered a colony of its own kind on a flower that could be shared by many, its behaviour shifted.
They gazed at their own horde by the chrysanthemum, which appeared to be delighted with the golden petal colour. It never visited them, despite seeing them on a daily basis. As a result, they set off to seek out a plant which would enhance their sight.
A short time after the butterfly searching, they were captivated by a flower that had an oceanic hue to its petal. Despite the heavy impression at first, the colour shone like the blue sky. Eventually the butterfly folded its wings and began to search for pollen.
Some time passed as it lay dormant on the petal while it was being pollinated. Then it heard a sound, a kind of humming, flying close to the flower. Intrigued, it looked over to see a bee coming to pollinate the lobelia.
The butterfly couldn't help but admire the bee's translucent yet sturdy wings. So dignified, so enchanting the colours of its small body. This gold and black skin would never disturb them. A bee so unlike them could be so fascinating. They struck up a brief conversation without further hesitation, but out of pure admiration.
"Hey, how wonderful of you. Such wild bees can be so fabulous, can they not?" The butterfly said in a friendly tone.
"Ah, really? I can't say I'm very pretty, but thank you. You have pretty wings too." The bee replied with a shy, grateful gesture.
"Pretty? How can you say that, I've only got a disturbing texture on my wings that I can't even see."
"Why is that?"
They said: "Oh, it's just that I don't really see it. My own neighbours are of the opinion that I have a dreadful appearance, something of a fallen disgrace." The butterfly had to accepted reluctantly.
"You have the charm, I daresay. Your wings are so obvious to the eye of the elect, I can assure you. Aren't you a Green-banded Swallowtail?" said the bee, determined.
"I am. Though I've never seen my own wings on my back." "If that's what some say, they must have looked terrible in the eyes of my horde."
"Well... all I can say is that we can never see our own wings and look at the others and judge the best we can. We can never know, and we mustn't judge ourselves from our peers, Butterfly. I'm sure they don't understand what the colour of your wings means to you."
"How can that be? I don't understand. In contrast, you appeared quite attractive and admirable, with a certain charisma. I found your physique more enviable than my own." They said in a state of denial and confusion.
"Nonetheless, there persists a discrepancy between their conduct, despite the animal's striking appearance, characterised by black and gold stripes and its fur." The bee responded.
"My point was this: you just have to fly and look after yourselves. Do not ever waver from their words. I'm sure you'll find someone who values your form."
In spite of their vast differences, in spite of their different behaviours, in spite of what they might have lacked in size, these two races talked so serenely and amicably. The way the butterfly and the bee tolerated each other was beautiful.
"I see. I'll be on my way then, Bee. Thanks for the advice and the willingness to listen." Then the butterfly bids farewell, as does the other.
They unfurl their wings like a flower in bloom and fly back to their nest. It was content with what it had managed to get out of talking to one another. And this is how the story of the condemned butterfly and the admired bee comes to an end.