A ring of light.

Not just any light. It wasn’t green and pulsing like a great, ugly pod full of goo. Nor did it glow as the shadows deepened, always peering and searching and hunting. No, this was a steady light, brilliant in its shine like none other.

She had studied the light for some time, always coming back to that circle below. Occasionally she would lie on her back and watch its motions, both subtle and drastic. Not that the light moved, oh no, but it did change quality. It had fazes, that ring up above; sometimes it shined with a blinding vibrancy, and other times it offered a dim and soothing softness. If she came at the right time, there would be no light at all.

Yet she knew the ring was there. The circle always remained. It beckoned, high above her reach. Someday, her wings would be strong and she would go to touch the surface of it. Maybe then there would be no more hunger. Perhaps, when her chitin had hardened and her legs grown long, she could bathe in that which resided above.

She basked in the warmth the light provided, the heat soaking into her carapace like a favorite blanket. If only such pleasure could be distributed to all. Why couldn’t it? If she were to pluck this shining miracle from above and share it with others, who would complain? For what reason could they?

Because the above is scary.

Because those that resided there would never love her kind.

Because that warmth could become a raging flame if tempted.

Because it is hopeless to try.

So the elders claimed. So the elders restricted.

She knew not if their words were true. She knew only that she was hungry, and the food came from above, and she had but one window. The view tantalized beyond comprehension. Every few cycles, she returned to gaze at her beloved ring. Sometimes she would spread her wings, heart filled with the threads of hope. She would jump, and her little wings would buzz.

The threads would snap, and she’d land on her little hooves. There was a time when she would cry with every failure.

Once again, she opened her wings wide. She looked at each, noting how small they seemed. Could these thin, translucent things ever hold her weight? Yet, as she turned her gaze above, she felt the threads of hope grasping for her once more.

Was this her time? Could she rise above and meet those who were so dangerous? She bent her legs a few times, eyes set upon the shining fruit above her. Just one jump. A few wing beats. That was all. She grasped at the threads and wrapped them around her heart once more, praying they might hold this time.

Her coiled legs surged with energy, loaded springs to shoot her into the open air. Her wings became a blur of activity as she rose. The ring dropped a little closer, the light seeming to wink in anticipation of her arrival. Her face broke into a fanged grin. A scent passed by her muzzle, and somehow she knew that it was pure, unfiltered, wonderful love, as only the above could offer!

The wind ceased.

The smell faded.

The ring rose.

The stone floor met her face, but she barely registered the pain. Slowly, with legs trembling, she turned onto her back. There the above remained, far out of reach. The web-like threads of hope wafted in the wind of her fall, taunting her with its dainty dance.

She didn’t cry, not this time. Her hunger surged through her, clawing at the recesses of her mind, but it was only hers. Soon she would feel that of a thousand others, all desperate for even the most insubstantial sustenance.

Yet the elders chose to remain below.

Someone was calling for her, deep in the dark. They wouldn’t like that she visited this place, so she turned away from the shining brightness and returned to the shadow. They were her keepers. It would not do to make them fret.

But someday her wings would grow strong. Her legs would be long, her word law. She’d have a crown. Then she would ascend, and her followers no longer starve. Then, as they remained shivering in the dark, the elders would ask her “Why?”

She would gaze from beneath the warm light above, and answer.

“Because of your choice.”