Butterfly Wings or a

Garmadon was terribly bored, and four years old was old enough to start reading, wasn't it? Perhaps he could send a letter.Garmadon stood, leaving his throne of stone and bones behind as he stalked over to his desk. He pulled out some paper and a pen and began writing, determined to open a line of communication with his offspring, and possibly his only connection to the outside world.*My dear child,I am your father, Lord Garmadon. I am sorry that I have been gone for so long, but I want to talk to you now. I wish I were with you, instead of being stuck in the Underworld. I hope you are willing to write back.Sincerely,Lord Garmadon.