sensitive topics a word for all you ghosts in her head & all you skeletons in her closet // death

[✧ Snailcurl.]

SHATTERED SURFACE SO IMPERFECT
snailcurl | 36 months | female | she/her | physically medium | mentally medium | attack in bold pink

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She'd tried to stay strong, she really had. But without her mate - without her kits, all she'd had left of him, well there was really no reason for her to keep going. When she'd fled from the coyotes and into to the marsh, she'd had no real thought other than to protect her kits - to honor her mates sacrifice. She'd fought tooth and claw to be accepted here, to be able to raise her kits with all the protection the group had to offer. And yet the world itself was not so kind. Her precious daughter had simply withered away, her son cracked open his skull. There is nothing left of them but cold bodies burred beneath the soil, a pitiful remainder of what could have been.

Lost as she is in grief, Snailcurl wonders when she too will join them in returning to the earth. She doesn't believe in starclan, but the thought of just seeing them again is almost enough for her to start too. Waking each morning grew harder and harder by the day as eyelids want nothing more than to stay shut, eating becoming impossible when everything tasted like ash upon her tongue. Her body hurts, and hurts, until nothing is left but numbness - like the emptiness she feels deep down in her soul. And one day, the grieving woman simply doesn't awake - still and silent in her nest, nothing left but a husk of her former self.
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[Garlicheart]

Garlickit was sometimes the first to awake among the nursery residents. She had so much energy to use, it was only natural. Such was the case today, and she started off her morning like any other, saying good morning to the other queens!

With a big stretch, she said good morning to her mother first. "Morning Mama!"

Then, hopped over Halfshade to Snailcurl. She was oddly still, but Garlickit didn't think anything of it.

"Morning Snailcurl!"

Snailcurl did not move. She tilted her head. Maybe she was too deep in slumber. She prodded the queen gently.

"Snailcurl?"

It was time to get up!! Garlickit didn't understand death just yet. It was a foreign concept. To her, Poor Snailcurl was simply oversleeping.​

 

[Crowkit.]

𓅪 A voice rouses the black - furred kit from his slumber, and he opens one eye lazily in hopes of being able to drift back to sleep. Dual - toned eyes open fully once he realizes there's no going back to sleep, and Garlickit's voice continues in the background as he wakes himself. Garlickit's hopping figure focuses into view, and Crowkit pays her no mind until he sees her prod Snailcurl. He didn't know either of them very well, but he had shared the den with them for a few days now. The feathery black kit slinks over silently and stands a little behind Garlickit, and the queen's very still body made his own freeze up. Crowkit knew Snailcurl was gone, he had seen enough of passed on cats to know that that's what she was now. He didn't know how to break the news to his denmate, though. "Who takes care of the sick cats? Um ... we should probably get them." He hadn't known Snailcurl very much, or at all really, but a bit of sadness pricked Crowkit. All he had known was that she was nice.
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"speech"

 

[Halfshade]

Halfshade didn't know what to make of the clan's newest kit. Another child found discarded near the carrionplace, but with charming eyes; though she knew she was quite biased in that judgement. Nonetheless, Crowkit seemed fine so she was more than content helping raise him and now that she'd settled on her idea of remaining in the nursery she'd need to get used to being handed random lost kittens going forward. The torbie queen gave a low hum of a purr to Garlickit's greeting, her nose still tucked into the curl of her tail wound around her body and looped over the rest of her litter still dozing. It is only when the kittens began to prod questions at a seemingly unresponsive Snailcurl did she lift her head in confusion. Snailcurl wasn't the sort to sleep in like this, especially not with kits poking about around her; it did not take more than a few seconds for the horrifying realization to kick in that the nursery had become a temporary tomb. Crowkit's inquisitive voice rose up, an oddly knowing tone contrasting her daughter's naive one; he knew.
"Crowkit, dear, be a lad and go fetch me a warrior." Carefully she rose to stand in such a way she did not jostle her still sleeping brood, long legs stepping over them to reach the motionless queens side. "Garlickit, come here....we need to have a talk..."
A small part of her was upset that such a discussion had to be had while they were still so young, but she would not lie to them about it. Nothing short of the truth would excuse the spotted queens future absence and it could be a lesson in a way. She'd not have more StarClan blasphemers in this clan like so many of the other warriors were. She'd seen it herself be true.
What had taken Snailcurl? A sickness she was unaware of? Grief? Who was to say, but Starlingheart would have to check to be sure; Halfshade had no knowledge of anything that could so simply remove a cat in their sleep than just mere old age.
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[APPLEJAW]

Garlickit was entirely too noisy in the mornings. She chirps loudly beside Applekit, surely rousing any of their littermates who were not awake already (knowing the other two, they probably weren't). Applekit did not find importance in poking and prodding around the nursery without games to play. She is content to remain tucked at Halfshade's side, sleepy eyes half - open against the morning gloom. Her ear only flickers at Garlickit continues to mumble.

Applekit only looks when Halfshade does, somewhat - overgrown paws prodding at her mother's torbie fur for a better look. Snailcurl is a strange lump nearby. Stranger than Garlickit or Crowkit were.

Who takes care of the sick cats?. " Starlingheart, " she supplies, voice a dull monotone from her sleepiness. When her mother requests that Crowkit fetches a warrior, Applekit perks slightly. Something was the matter, she thinks. Her lips press thin, and blearily, she figures that she would be better to fetch someone than Crowkit would.

The complaint is long forgotten though, when Halfshade suddenly takes on a careful tone. She had not been talking to her, but Applekit comes to stand beside Garlickit anyways, wanting to hear what their mother had to say. What was wrong with Snailcurl?​

 

[lambkit]

Lambkit emerges from her shadowy little nest, stuffed with her treasures; Addercoil and her kits are already long gone, likely out in camp being towed about while her foster queen got the freshest gossip scoop. The kit moves to where a small, morbid party has gathered about Snailcurl's nest; Garlickit is yelping like usual, Applekit is looking sleepy and annoyed (also like usual), and that odd new kit is ... there.

The patched kitten worms her scrawny frame in between her denmates'; a smell hangs about the queen's body, evasive but somehow familiar. Evocative, even, her mind supplies; that word was better, one of the really big ones she picked up somewhere around. Probably Addercoil; the queen baby-talked her own kits sometimes, but spoke to Lambkit as she would any other Clanmate. She sniffs the limp form of Snailcurl; the smell is sweet, but stale in a weird way. And it reminds her of something.

After all, Lambkit couldn't possibly remember her own birth, when she'd first met a dead cat; four, in fact. That sickly scent had risen to her dulled newborn senses and imprinted just the same as she lay in this same nursery, a living gravestone of skin and bone in a graveyard of her siblings. Her mother's cold form still against her helpless mewls. All she knows is that the scent reminds her of something; she doesn't know what, though, since Snailcurl's just sleeping like Garlickit's all yelling about. The kit offers, "Why's Snailcurl still asleep? Garlickit even woke me up."
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[smogstar]

Save for his routine visits to Halfshade and his recently-welcomed kits, the day-to-day proceedings of ShadowClan's deputy rarely led him towards the nursery. He feels like a fish out of water in there, or like a frog plucked from its lilypad. He simply doesn't belong.

Nevertheless, a slowly-growing hubbub from within the den would lure the deputy to its thorny cocoon. The air wafting out of its branches does not taste of the balmy milk or newborn warmth that he'd come to associate with the nursery, but rather carries an uneasy odour of anxiety. Something is amiss, and though he's dramatically unequipped to deal with queens and their ever-increasing needs, it is his solemn duty to tackle the problems in camp that are in need of tackling.

The outlines of wee Applekit and dear Garlickit command his sight as he verges on the den, before he steadily shoulders his way inside. "Good morning, kids," greets the tom, speaking in a delicate tone that sounded unnatural on his tongue. A forced smile marks his expression, and as he has yet to take note of anything glaringly awry, his gaze simply scans from face to face before finally settling on his mate. "What's the matter?" he asks, the fixed form of Snailcurl laying dormant in his peripheral. "I heard Applekit say sum'n about Starlingheart. Is everyone okay?" ​

 

[Garlicheart]

Garlickit looked to Halfshade and then to Snailcurl. Was something wrong with her? She didn't see anything wrong.... Neither did the other kits, it seemed.

She went to sit in front of her mother, joined by her sister. She was starting to feel uneasy. What kind of talk were they going to have? Did she do some wrong? She was glad Applekit was here, she always knew what to say or do. Smogmaw entered and she couldn't bring herself to greet him as happily as usual.

"Hi daddy...." She greets him quietly. A rare occurrence for her. "Snailcurl won't wake up..." She explained.​

 

[Swansong]

————— ☾ —————
NOW I KNOW WHAT'S REAL, WHAT'S FAKE

It is with a not-unusal a yawn that Swankit re-enters the world of the waking, unaware that Snailcurl will not be doing the same. The dappled molly has been a constant in Swankit's young life, a strangely melancholy figure, tending to keep to her own, yet a presence noted nonetheless. He has never known loss, has no reason to despair for the loss of the molly, the loss of anything at all.

It is Garlickit's voice, of course, that draws him to waking. Again, routine. Garlickit is quite loud; when she is awake, so too are her siblings, whether they like it or not. And yet — everyone keeps talking about something. The name of the medicine cat flits through their ears, eyes still closed as they listen in silence. Half-remembered dreams still cling to the child, the world suspended in a state of unreality, the words they hear seeming distant and unremarkable. Garlickit quiets. That's nice. They gather, from her words and Lambkit's, what has happened. "Oh... Snailcurl's sleeping...?" They don't understand why that's noteworthy, why they'd need Starlingheart for that.

With seemingly no rush, Swankit's eyes blink blearily open, another yawn parting their jaw. They look to Snailcurl. Still, unmoving. "'Maybe she doesn't, um... want to wake up." He can understand that. There has been a strange smell in the air since they woke up, but they think little of it. Dream-scent lingering, maybe. It smells kind of sweet, in a sick way. Maybe she's dreaming of something nice. She always seems so sad, maybe she's happier in her dreams.

Swankit gets to his paws, limbs stretching slowly forward as he toddles still half-asleep, nearly tripping over his own paws as he moves towards the dead cat. "'S okay, ma'am... You don't have to get up. Don't worry about them..." At least everyone was talking quietly. He hopes they're not bothering her. Swankit settles down beside Starlingheart, presses his head against her side. She's so still... she must be sleeping really deeply. His voice grows every quieter as he speaks to her. "I'll lay with you, okay? 'S better than..." A yawn, eyes closing once again. "Sleeping alone..." Though not yet sleeping, he too stills by her side, the steady movements of his breaths the only thing betraying his life.

RATHER SLEEP THAN STAY AWAKE
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☾⋆⁺₊⋆ info ; visual

• //
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• SWANKIT named for his pale fur, after his maternal grandmother.
  — he/him. 2 moons.
  — shadowclan kit.
  — quiet and dreamy.
  
  penned by saturnid.​
• "SPEECH"
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• 

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[STUMPYSPOTS]

STUMPYSPOTS ♀​ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♡ ♡​

The eeriness of the den and the hushed whispers and kitten questions she hears occuring inside is what draws her near. Initially she stands at the entrance of the den, only wanting to enter if the queens gave her permission. Thats when she saw Snailcurl, it takes her a long pause, but the silence and lack of movement from her is deafening. The faint stentch of death lingers in the air, her eyes widen in terror. Halfshade and Smogmaw were here, she can she in the patchy she-cats gaze that she knew. She tries to read the blue striped deputy's face, but she guesses he's yet to notice- Swankit's approach to the deceased she-kit is enough to make her gasp. "Swankit...!" she gasps, paws cannot help but move uninvitedly forward. The calico can tell Halfshade was trying to deal with the situation with delicacy, her kits were present after all. But before the deceased she-cat could confuse the kittens any further she needed to be removed from the den. Looking to Smogmaw, "We... have to move her." The truth isn't spoken outright in a struggling attempt to keep the ears of kittens safe.

 

[S A B L E T U F T]

can we leave it behind? — Lately Sabletuft's mornings had begun with collecting his apprentice and dragging the both of them out into the marshes. By habit he rose as the milky dawn's light hardly poked through the brambles. Today is no different, rising and stretching from his nest. He crawled through the branches, but notably something is... off. It bothered him in a way that his tail began to fluff into spines.

Eyes scan the clearing like a hawk, eerily he stayed silent. Trying to find the source of his discomfort. His paws brought him to the pile of prey, nodding to Smogmaw as he passed, no doubt heading to greet his kittens and mate for the morning. He inspected the dead prey in the meanwhile, flicking over every piece before deliberating nothing had rotted. His snout pointed toward each den, finding nothing out of place until his nose lined with the nursery. His eyes narrowed, hearing some shouting and and gasps from inside.

It would be odd for a warrior to walk into a nursery that had no belonging to him. He hardly believed the queens would appreciate him poking around, but he was thoroughly uneasy about what his senses told him. He carefully stepped into the hollow, catching onto the last of Stumpyspot's words.

Move her... move who? He didn't have to wait long at all for his unspoken question as his gaze landed on Swankit, so close to the still form of the late queen. "I think she'll need help to the medicine den." He agreed with the calico, glancing at Smogmaw before dipping low to pad to Snailcurl's stride. He placed a paw at the old moss that made up her nest. Just as cold as she was. Without asking permission (would he really need it for this?) he would take the kit in his jaws to place him out of the way, then turn to begin dragging the nest out of the hollow. "You can't go to Starlingheart's den with her. But she won't be alone in there." He explained to Swankit without looking at the drowsy kitten. Sabletuft's gaze kept pointing to Smogmaw in a wordless request for help, not looking for protest by the other's curious kittens.— tags​