Once upon a moonlit night, a congregation of moths gathered, their hearts aflame with desire—to be united with the candle. Their whispered deliberations echoed through the darkness: “We must send an emissary to unravel the secrets of our amorous longing.”
And so, one moth embarked on a mission. He ventured to a distant castle, where the candle’s glow beckoned. Returning, he recounted what he had witnessed. But the wise moth, presiding over the assembly, shook his head. “You comprehend nothing of the candle,” he declared.
Undeterred, another moth followed suit. He grazed the flame’s edge with delicate wings, only to recoil from its searing heat. His report fared no better than the first.
Yet a third moth, intoxicated by love, dared more. He flung himself into the fire’s embrace, clasping it with forelegs. The flame consumed him, and his body blazed crimson. From afar, the wise moth observed—a silent witness to this fiery union.
And then he spoke: “He has learned what he sought, but only he truly comprehends. Words fall short.”
