- Jan 27, 2024
- 16
- 14
- 3
༺♰༻ Cygnetstare loved the tunnels. Gravepaw knows this, because it is hard not to.
Back in the days of the nursery, there was always a distance to her. There was something pulling her away, and it was easy to see what. She spoke of the world below with a wistful twinkle in her eyes, always eager to return, always on the verge of running from the kits she never meant to have.
Look mama, Gravekit would say. I'm gonna be a tunneler, right? Just like you! And Cygnetstare would smile, because her kit was perfect. Tiny, fragile, unfit for the world above. Molded divinely for the tunnels, there was no question of her destiny. She was named for her mother's two loves: the earth and the stars. A kit with fur twisted in shades of night and alabastar bone. Perfect, made to be loved by one cat alone.
There is a bitter twist in their gut every time they set off into the tunnels. Cygnetstare did not even stay long enough to accompany them, too blinded by the pull of death.
She loved the tunnels - she loved death more than she ever loved them. They could never keep her to themself.
They are not an easy thing to love. Their heart is cold and brittle, their kindness an act of contortion. Their body is twisted in all the same ways as their mother, eyes bulging and fur haphazard. They cling for dear life to any scrap of affection. To Ferretpaw, a transactional relationship borne of mutual flattery. To Frightpaw, with a terrible name so similar to their own. To Cottonsprig, who cares for them when the burden of illness upon their death-cursed body takes its toll. They do not have many to love them; the sneer of their maw makes it far too difficult.
They do not love the tunnels, as much as they want to. Isolated from the world, pressed in upon on all sides by earth. They brave it because they are good, and they want to please their clan.
It feels as though they could disappear into the dark of this place, and no one would even know.
They are not surprised when they begin to feel the earth rain down around them. The feel of soil shifting strikes fear into their heart, an end long coming. There is a cold sort of numbness to it, a cloying dread. This place was always meant to be their tomb. Their name damned them from the start, as much as their lineage did.
They try to run, and it is of little use. Tiny legs do not have the power to escape, even as the cries of their patrol ring in their ears. The earth swallows them whole, and they cannot breathe.
It is dark, and it is quiet.
They are alone, until they are not. A star shimmering memory of their mother greets Gravepaw.
They do not return to the surface.
Back in the days of the nursery, there was always a distance to her. There was something pulling her away, and it was easy to see what. She spoke of the world below with a wistful twinkle in her eyes, always eager to return, always on the verge of running from the kits she never meant to have.
Look mama, Gravekit would say. I'm gonna be a tunneler, right? Just like you! And Cygnetstare would smile, because her kit was perfect. Tiny, fragile, unfit for the world above. Molded divinely for the tunnels, there was no question of her destiny. She was named for her mother's two loves: the earth and the stars. A kit with fur twisted in shades of night and alabastar bone. Perfect, made to be loved by one cat alone.
There is a bitter twist in their gut every time they set off into the tunnels. Cygnetstare did not even stay long enough to accompany them, too blinded by the pull of death.
She loved the tunnels - she loved death more than she ever loved them. They could never keep her to themself.
They are not an easy thing to love. Their heart is cold and brittle, their kindness an act of contortion. Their body is twisted in all the same ways as their mother, eyes bulging and fur haphazard. They cling for dear life to any scrap of affection. To Ferretpaw, a transactional relationship borne of mutual flattery. To Frightpaw, with a terrible name so similar to their own. To Cottonsprig, who cares for them when the burden of illness upon their death-cursed body takes its toll. They do not have many to love them; the sneer of their maw makes it far too difficult.
They do not love the tunnels, as much as they want to. Isolated from the world, pressed in upon on all sides by earth. They brave it because they are good, and they want to please their clan.
It feels as though they could disappear into the dark of this place, and no one would even know.
They are not surprised when they begin to feel the earth rain down around them. The feel of soil shifting strikes fear into their heart, an end long coming. There is a cold sort of numbness to it, a cloying dread. This place was always meant to be their tomb. Their name damned them from the start, as much as their lineage did.
They try to run, and it is of little use. Tiny legs do not have the power to escape, even as the cries of their patrol ring in their ears. The earth swallows them whole, and they cannot breathe.
It is dark, and it is quiet.
They are alone, until they are not. A star shimmering memory of their mother greets Gravepaw.
They do not return to the surface.
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"SPEECH"
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GRAVEPAW ♰ they / she, apprentice of windclan, nine moons.
⭃ a tiny chimera of black and white fur with bulging pink eyes.
⭃ bratty and bitter beneath a sickly-sweet demeanor.
⭃cygnetstarexgooseberry, littermate to shriekpaw, heronpaw, & milkweedpaw
⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
