Baby Lon loved butterflies. She wanted butterfly wings more than anything else in the whole wide world but her parents wouldn’t allow it.
“What do you need grafts for anyway?” her father had asked, “your new robot, the imp, it can fly right?”
“It’s not the same daddy. I want to really fly, you know, not be carried by a robot. I’ll pay for it myself but I need your permission to get them.”
“Well, you can forget it missy. Anyway what’s the difference between flying with the imp or with butterfly wings?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Baby said petulantly.
“What? Some kind of hip fashion statement? Look at me, my soul is fragile, touch me and I’ll crumble to dust?”
“Honey,” Baby’s mother had interjected, “don’t make fun of her like that.”
“Who’s making fun? You remember that kid on the news who grafted snakes to replace his dreadlocks? His girlfriend dumped him and when he became depressed the snakes bit him to death. I mean what kind of irresponsible human being grafts poisonous snakes onto a teenager’s head? I love you Baby, but no member of the Lon family is getting a graft. Not while you’re under my roof, is that clear?”