She was resting grimly against the fence, belly softly rounded with the sweet burn of cookies digesting. Her belly is furry and golden, her ears are shallow tea cups perked toward the sky, her wings re butter-coloured and bat-shaped because she is indeed, a butterbat.

Something stirred behind her and she flashed into movement. Erratic as a flickering candle flame, her entire form animated and slipped onto the black cave.

Butterbat’s skin is thinnish and slightly draping, clinging gently to generous bones. Soft, fine hair graces the entire surface of her creamy skin, giving rise to her gliding capacities. Indeed if one could touch her, they would exhale a most tender sigh of pleasure as their delighted fingertips dare to dance over her luxurious, velvet flesh.

As standard in her mother’s lineage, butterbat’s hearing is potently sonic and sensitive with the ability to sense the presence and sound of other creatures through the escaping waves and pattering remnants of their movement trajectories. Like her father, butterbat is incapable of true flight and unlike her father, she is not vegetarian nor is she vegan.

Her pleasures in the consumption of sweet creamy products wrought from happy, willing animals gives rise to her unique namesake. The extra plumpness she carries due to these dietary passions assists the unpredictability of her gliding movement.

In the black cave, butterbat mulled over a hot beverage. Cinnamon, clove, and warmth in a cup clasped between her graceful golden spindly fingers injects her entire being with a sense of calm and quiet preparation. The night is heavy and inky and the precise time is quickly approaching.