His favorite playlist coats his ears, a blanket to insulate against the snow.
The flame inside him chews on the dinner he forgot to eat, leaving his chimney with little but a cough of uncertainty.
He’s seen plenty of butterflies before, but he can’t quite identify this one. Inching from the far corner of the room towards the light the creature pauses frequently, turning back and forth a few degrees at a time.
The scene captivates his attention. Realizing the irony he moves to free his winged captive. Blankets firmly attached he leans as far as he can without falling out of bed or losing his quilted exoskeleton.
He opens the window.
He tightens his cocoon.
The sweet breeze stings his eyes and nose, slaps him awake. Cold rushes up his nostrils, cascades down his windpipes into his expanding lungs. He looks up to identify the creature when it flies past him to freedom.
But, the creature is motionless. It soaks up the ceiling light as though… as though gazing at the blazing sun will bring all the answers.
He leaps to his feet, pauses the playlist, and puts on a jacket. As the door slams behind him the moth, startled, glides out through the window.