The cool night air of the castle vanished the moment you stepped into the Butterfly Garden, replaced by the heavy tropical warmth that clung to your skin and fogged the glass panes overhead. The conservatory glowed softly under moonlight, its mist drifting in thin veils across the orchids and vines, but your eyes were drawn immediately to the figures within the garden beds themselves, where the Butterfly Girls are immobilized among the flowers. Each woman was fixed permanently on all fours, her forearms and calves secured beneath broad, stable stakes that held her in place with unyielding precision, the polished metal contrasting sharply with the moss and petals around them. Their bodies were arranged as part of the garden’s design, positioned between clusters of blossoms so that their brightly inked butterfly tattoos seemed to rise from the foliage itself. In the humid air their muscles shifted in small, involuntary motions, pained squirming that made the tattoos ripple and flex, creating the illusion of wings struggling to lift from their backs. The actual, insect butterflies slept on broad leaves nearby, untouched by the suffering woven into the garden’s design. The soft hum of the vents filled the silence as you walked deeper into the biome.