BLEEDING CHILDHOOD \ ghostpaw

[NETTLEPAW ♡]

Stupidly, he was out alone, but it didn't really matter. He was just hunting, hard as it was in the cold seasons- and when he returned with a catch clasped in grinning jaws, he would be lauded- well, congratulated, and that was fine enough. He'd stand out enough to get in good graces, but not enough to be envied, not enough to be hated. Nettlepaw was happy to walk along that line- or, he would have been, had he not caught a stench in the air. An intruder, or someone getting pretty close. A rogue, a loner, someone who needed a slap...

Or, his sister.

He'd grieved- privately, of course, not loudly ('cos who liked a loud crier)- that something had happened to Ghostpaw, that she was dead somewhere and they'd never found her- that their father had got her, had punished her for not coming with him. Because Ghostpaw, he'd never looked at her- he hated her, didn't he? It wasn't like him.

"Ghostpaw!" he called. She was fine. She was untouched, pristine- except that there was a strange, foreign scent clinging to her fur. The same pitchy eyes he'd grown up with, poised, thoughtful. "You stink," he told her, wide smile on his face, eyes round- rounded, staring. She was fine. Betrayal ran deep beneath his skin. There wasn't a mark on her, and their mother was carved up, and she was here now, when it didn't matter? "Where did you run off to, then?" Nettlepaw was talking too fast. "You ran off, didn't you!" Realisation dawned, clear-sky in his eyes. Everything bad that was here, everything he was trying to fix without drawing too-too much attention to himself, she'd just run off- and where?

\ @GHOSTPAW. ...​

penned by pin ♡​

 

[GHOSTMASK]

She's perched just outside ShadowClan's border, staring out into the marsh. The walk here had not felt so long. The sun bleeds red into the winter sky, chill burrowing under her skin, not that she much minds it. She watches the way the lichens hanging from the trees sway and sway, the sparse frogs that leave ripples in the murky standing water, the mud that slicks every surface. She hears the bubble and pop of the muck, the low, throaty belches of the frogs, the reedy screams of the wind through bog-trees. She smells rot and tastes decay.

She misses it.

She had hated it all no more than a couple moons ago, had been desperate to escape it. Had escaped it, sliding out of her nest covered in mud and wild garlic. She'd thought she would get to live in the clean moors and high winds forever, climbing higher, higher, higher. Climbing until a star marked her, or until she burned up trying to reach it.

She might trade it all to feel Starlingheart's nose pressed to her forehead one more time.

Ghostpaw turns on a dime, white tail held pristine above the muck. No scars or blood or signs of obvious hurt mark her clean black-and-white fur. She smells of open air and heather just beginning to be tainted with the scent of rogue and copper. Black-blue eyes, pinpricks of maroon hiding in their depths, fix Nettlepaw with a thoughtful gaze. She's poised, neck held high and swannish and as elegant as any leader gracing the Great Rock. Nettlepaw is here, yelling at her all too fast, hissy like a kitten.

"I left," she corrects. "Left for something better." Ran off makes her sound desperate, makes her sound like offal, and she doesn't like it. Her mantle of briars bristles, black fur spiking around her neck, and she hates it, hates the loss of composure he draws from her so easily. She's too fast to hostility, too eager to rake the wide smile from his face. She hates it so, so, much, the way he seems like he could still love her. "It's not my fault you made the wrong choice."

"speech"

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[NETTLEPAW ♡]

Her scent was muddied WindClan, something like that- the shock of seeing her, the sting of betrayal, it fizzled his fur and muddied any measure. White paws closed in on his sister- he wasn't thinking, not properly. She was looking at him oddly, dark, dark eyes filled with something he hated. There was no gladness in her gaze.

The hackles along Nettlepaw's snowy neck began to rise. He stalked closer, closer, his smile still on his face. It was hilarious, after all- that she'd crawled back here, even after leaving, after abandoning it all. "Left!" The word bursts out of him in ajoyous cackle. Even now, it was funny. Everything had to be funny, because otherwise he had to think about how much it hurt. And she was looking at him still and there wasn't an iota of warmth, and it made Nettlepaw antsy, the way she seemed to hate him in that moment. Even his sister did not love him. And he hated, hated, hated it.

And he hated the way he itched to make her feel it, too. He wanted to make it seem like she didn't care, like it hadn't hurt him that she'd left- and left when Granitepelt did. The wrong choice, she said- and what choice had he made, about whether to leave or not? A realisation slotted into place in Nettlepaw's head "You left with him, didn't you- hah!" A cackle ripped from his throat. Nettlepaw bounced on his feet like he was doing a joyous dance- and he was closing in on her, shrinking the distance- now, there was barely a tail-length between them. "He doesn't even like you! Didn't you hear him? Wanted to change your name, change you- he only cared about Starlingheart, and you should've seen what he did to her..." Nettlepaw snorted, like it was funny. Like any of it was funny. And it almost was, how ridiculous she'd been... how stupid she was... how much he wished she hadn't left, past all of it.

"It's too funny! That's something better? Is it?" And I'm wrong, she says! His eyes were wide, and so was his smile. ​

penned by pin ♡​

 

[GHOSTMASK]

He's still smiling, grinning so wide it seems like his head might split open—although that would be easier to watch, wouldn't it, than the way he cackles and bounces on his paws. Like this is some kind of game, some little kitten-play where if he just sounds cheerful enough everyone will like him. Like this isn't his life, her life, their life being torn to shreds right now. As though she hadn't given up everything for a chance at this, at flying higher, at getting somewhere better in life.

She hates it.

"Nettlepaw, shut up." Ghostpaw hisses lowly, girlish tone dripping dulcet to hide the hatred beneath. She wants him to shut up, so her skin will stop crawling with the wrongness of it all, itching with the way he dances and grins and laughs. Laughs. He laughs at the way her life is falling apart around her. Her voice is a chiming warning, lace-trimmed coffin, one she'd told him a million times as kits: shut up if you know what's good for you. Except when they were kits it hadn't mattered, and the worst she'd do was cuff him over the ear, and she still had a life. Still had a future.

But he keeps going, pushing closer, pushing all the elegance out of her poised posture, and she's still hating it, hating the way she's losing her control. Hating how her voice slips into a snarl and her fur turns into spires of thorns against her will. Hating how she can feel the way he sees her changing, that possibility to love slinking away like moth-wings in the light. Dissolving at the touch. "Shut up, Nettlepaw."

It's a warning he doesn't heed—closer, closer, and she's losing her cool, losing it all. Losing everything, and what dignity does she have left to lose to him?

So she lets the wails that have been trapped all along loose, screams, "I said shut up!" The world spins as she throws herself at him, falling silent, teeth locking in whatever flesh she can reach, eyes black as the starless sky she's destined for.

"speech"

​

 

[NETTLEPAW ♡]

He hated himself for it, and drowned the feeling- it was her fault that he'd been pushed to this, making it seem like he didn't care, like it was all just so ridiculous and funny. What choice did he have? He couldn't let her see him hurt, couldn't let anyone see he missed his father and missed his sister, and wanted it all to be the same as it used to be, where they were distant and odd but at least whole. A world where no one had left him behind. It didn't exist, here- especially not lingering in the space between Nettlepaw and his sister.

His eyes were bright blue fire. There was a twist on his sister's face- a twist of annoyance. For a moment, he'd hurt her- he'd done it, writhed beneath her skin, and that made him good. It was vengeance on the traitor. Something a hero might do.

When Ghostpaw screamed, everything began to move at once.

He was thinking. He's not thinking anymore.

She throws herself at him, fangs snapping, claws grasping. Nettlepaw has the air blown out of him for a second, a wheezing laugh, even as she snaps- as she latches onto his shoulder, rips some flesh away. Blood blooms beneath the white, and Nettlepaw aimed to slam a paw into the side of her face, claws unsheathed, and it's as easy as ever. There's ways to get out of being pinned on your back- he kicks at her stomach too, but it's not desperate, hardly bothered. Still, still he beams at her, entertained. She's angry 'cos she did something stupid, simple as that. Left, abandoned them, for something that wasn't better. "Get a grip, Ghostpaw!" he tells her through gritted grin, above her crackling anger. She'll stop this soon. She'll come to her senses. "You-" and it's a panting struggle as he tries to haul her off him, "You made the wrong choice!" ​

penned by pin ♡​

 

[GHOSTMASK]

Her teeth pierce his skin and she tastes sweet copper, spits salt onto the ground. Flesh tears and everything is moving too fast and she hates, she hates so much she can taste it, bittersweet and filthy on the back of her teeth. Saccharine and drowning in it, she drips her brother's blood from between her teeth, feels the writhing beneath her skin as he laughs, wheezy and choked, grins. His tongue lolls with laughter, beaming as he slams his paw into her face and she feels something rip in her flesh.

It hurts, it hurts so much—and she's never been this torn bare, exposed to the roots of her flesh. Salty muscle and needle teeth, he carves a hole in her porcelain mask and beauty drips scarlet down her face, circling the drain. This hurts more than anything, this profound loss—this loss of dignity, of beauty, of elegance. Of poise and posture. Reduced to a snarling animal wrestling in the mud, bloody foam at the corners of her mouth, his paws digging into her stomach.

And still he's laughing, still he's grinning like this is all a game. Like this isn't her life he's destroying. She will make him. She will make him see how serious this is.

So she plunges her fangs into his heart - marked throat, digging deeper and deeper, shaking her head from side to side like a baying hound. Because that's what she is, when you strip away the window dressing and the lace and the ribbons: a feral animal, a beast who'd sooner rip her brother's throat open than admit she's wrong. The taste of copper washes away the bitterness coating her molars, filling her mouth, blood masking her face over the white. Still she pushes her teeth deeper, hooked fangs tearing, burrowing into flesh.

Finally she rears her head back, blood coating her face, dripping down her chin, all poise lost. Thoughtfulness has left those black eyes, leaving behind slit-pupiled fury, blown wide and red as she parts her jaws that drip blood and froth. "Did I?" she hisses, low, bending down again to look into his kitten-blue eyes. "Did I, Nettlepaw?"

"speech"

​

 

[NETTLEPAW ♡]

Nettlepaw kicks and kicks, but she's not getting off of him- even as scarlet flashes on her white face, their snowy masks both spattered with blood. She snarls- she looks so angry, and he sees the look on her face, snarling and furious and foaming. Nettlepaw thinks, in that moment, her frown looks a lot like their father's.

Her head snaps down. Volcanic blood erupted from his throat, and- it's only now he realises that it was serious, that disbelief had blinded him. Blood gurgles, bubbles, where he could have screamed. Where he should have. Where he tried to. Twiggy limbs flail around, slapping at anything, blinded by white-hot, magma-dripping pain. Ghostpaw's anger flows through her fangs like venom, piercing into him, igniting him with pain and fury.

When she tears away from him, viscera is smeared around her face. Starless eyes stare at him, devoid of love and devoid of anything. Nettlepaw hardly knows where he is anymore- and he wonders, before the other Ghostpaw died, what had they seen? Pupils dilated with fear, with amusement, with something- they meet the night-sky of Ghostpaw's, tremble in place. Someone had to take after their father.

Nettlepaw's legs slump, limp and tired. Blood waterfalls between his fangs, spurting like bile onto the ground.

He does not have time to answer her. He does not have time to even stop smiling.​

penned by pin ♡​

 

[GHOSTMASK]

She waits for a reply, eyes black and empty, glowing frenzied for something. For him to finally, finally admit he's wrong—for her brother, choking on his own blood, to admit that this was serious, that he finally saw how serious this all was. How much it mattered to her. That she made him see. Her voice is low and raspy with the taste of blood as she whispers, "See? See? See?"

He does not see. He gurgles, and then he dies.

For a long moment, she waits. She waits to see the smile widen, his eyes animate with life, a croaking laugh to erupt. She waits as his blood steams against the icy ground and the smile lolls on his face, lingering far longer than it should. He falls limp between her paws. It takes that for her to realize that he is dead. That her confident, dancing brother's legs fall still is what breaks the news to her.

She has killed her brother.

"You—You deserved it," she whispers, half to her brother's cooling body and half to herself. Spittle, blossoming scarlet with his blood, her face harlequined with the stuff, drips foamy from her jaws. The frenzy is gone, the high wave crashed to a polluted seabed. She waits another long moment.

Then she hears a sound—maybe a patrol, maybe just a frog—and she flees. They will not smell Ghostpaw on him, but a stranger who stinks of heather and rogue. The fur between his claws will be plain black, unidentifiable as a shadow and slippery as a black snake. This is what she reassures herself with as she stumbles back to her father, to her new home, with her brother's blood drying on her face.

Because she can never go back, not now. ShadowClan can never be home again.

"speech"

​