private the ghost of your smile’s always looking 》birth

[KITEWAIL]

They loathe their own despair, they loathe themself. There is nothing more they would want than to be within their own nest— they would have dragged its remnants to the nursery just to have the scent of Florabreeze permeate around them. Florabreeze would have stayed there often, they know so. She would hold them close and comfort them through the discomfort they experience. Her kits must be punishing them for all she has done to hurt their mother; the truth is that their pregnancy would be undeniably easier on them in the pine forest.

Her mate would whisper sweet encouragement with her chin upon Kite's head, lolling her to sleep during the worst of it. Oh she would have treated her so well it would border on worship. Within the nursery they could have finally befriended Butterflytuft and asked her for advicez There is a certain strength to Butterflytuft for being able to take the helpless under her wing, they could not deny this even if she was weak in all other aspects... it would have been an honor to have someone like her for additional support. Alas, they are destitute and must navigate it all alone despite the family they are surrounded by. The what-ifs the tabby fantasizes about serves to hurt them more than comfort. They do not stop their daydreaming though, they deserve the heartache.

✧

The dark tabby lays within the sparsest cover of gorse curling over them to shield them from the rest of the clan as they kit. Kitewail's teeth dig into the torn collar of Florabreeze as they fight back the instinct to cry out. Hysterical, that's what Coyotecrown must be thinking…. they must look hysterical as their claws scramble for purchase in their brittle nest. They wait as contractions ebbs and flows for what feels like ages, and by midnight the firstborn arrives. Kitewail dutifully pulls him toward their chest and instinct takes over from there, with their help it takes it's very first weak breath. The fragile sound forces their ears forward from their skull and their head slants… how could they even protect something so delicate? They lower their head down to begin lapping at the kit but it is then that another kit decides it is their time to inspire awe in Kitewail. It too is gathered close.

Their firstborn, their son, has been lapped clean to reveal a lightning strike of ivory which arcs down his shadowy face. His fur matches their own, the white fur of his face matches his mother's. They must name these two kits without their mother. "...son…" Kitewail presses their nose to the crown of his head and whispers, "Rookkit." Rather than focusing on a trait he shares with Florabreeze, Kitewail is reminded of the white-billed bird. They have never these carrion birds alone and neither will Rookkit and his siblings ever be.

They pull their tongue over the stained, mewling face of their daughter and recoils immediately. Starclan means to mock them— white tear markings streak beneath her eyes and a star upon her forehead taunts Kitewail. "...S-stars…" Kitewail shivers and nudges the multi-toned kit to Rookkit's side. They hardly touch her daughter like they had with Rookkit. They place their chin down on a paw and hide their eyes which water from both emotion and exhaustion. "You are Starlit…." They could name her something cruel like 'Cryingkit,' but it would be another thing that Florabreeze would not forgive them for doing. Neither are they like Coyotecrown…. It is not their daughter's fault Starclan wishes to punish them. Kitewail would watch the stars with Florabreeze… this name will not be a recognition of their wrongs but a reminder of their mother. They can only hope. Kitewail shifts their small body to guard the kits and begins to weep into their paws to muffle the sound.

It felt like it was over even if in the back of their mind an instinct gnawed at them, it was an imperceivable reminder that there was still more to come. Starlitkit and Rookkit would not be alone. The pause in their labor was just as extraneous, their body and mind ached and Kitewail could not rest, resting meant they would have to take their eyes off their newborns. Kitewail's labor resumes at first light. They know what to expect now but it is dreadful nonetheless.

The next kit is void of any reminders of Florabreeze. She is pale with swaths of gray like smokestacks. When she is cleaned up by Kitewail the kit's tiny paws curl over her face as though she is embarrassed to be seen so clearly. Florabreeze would have named her after a pretty flower which would pair well with her lilac coat. To Kitewail their daughter looks like a wilting dusk-colored rose, shriveling up in the cold air of Leafbare. They hoarsely breathe, "Wiltingkit..." Wiltingkit appears to take after their parent already; Kitewail would like to hide until things got better too. Although they pant frenzily from more contractions rippling across their midsection, Kitewail carefully leans forward and presses their nose on the dusky kit's paws to encourage her to let go of her face. The sight of two fangs nearly makes Kitewail retch. The brutish Oakrumble had such teeth too. Starclan, please spare me…. from more pain…

This must be… the last one. Kitewail whimpers slightly and nudges what they presume to be their final kit… they do not even assess their appearance, they hardly look at them but to check they breathe well. Kitewail ignores their facial markings, stars, it would be more surprising if they did not have something which would remind them of their downfall. The awe of giving life to these kits wore off when they first set their dull gaze upon Starlitkit's tears, it is just a monotonous job now to clean the kit and name it. They are devoid of emotion and unable to muster up a name Florabreeze would like, nothing would be good enough. "Hollow….kit." Kitewail does not wish for them to be ashamed of this name— stars, they'll tell them they are named after a hollowed tree— but it'll be a reminder to Kitewail. Of their past when they were fol with the love Florabreeze had for them and how it feels to be so far away and so alone with the weight of their regret caving in on them.

Hollowkit was not the last one to be born, not long after their name was bestowed upon them Kitewail gathers a frail kit in their paws and frantically presses their cheek against it. It's smaller than the rest, the runt they assume. From Kitewail's maw a shaky breath releases vapor into the air, relief spreads across them when the chimera kit begins to steadily breath. He does not seem quite as strong as the others. The kit is so small, he struggles to latch initially and so Kitewail presses him closer beside Rookkit like their firstborn could teach the runt how to. As with Hollowkit, when the runt is deposited next to his siblings Kitewail struggles with a name. Only once did they discuss future names for their kits with Florabreeze but all the knowledge escaped their fatigued mind. As it was with naming Wiltingkit they struggle to think clearly, the only flower they can recall is one their own parents warned them against ever admiring too closely. Larkspurkit

Larkspurkit will the be the last. Kitewail watches their kits suckle with tears in the corners of their eyes. I did it, my sweets… Their body is taxed and their eyelids are heavy with sleep they will still deny themself until they can not control it any longer. They are a cocoon around the kits, a protective barrier from judgmental eyes and harsh elements. They can not bear the thought of ever having to leave these kits on their own. Somehow they do not feel anger towards the kits… afterall their appearances could not be chosen by themselves. Kitewail's head drops onto the collar of Florabreeze and nudges their nose against the cold metal clasp. Flora, do you feel that they're finally here….? You will meet them soon…. I promise.


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shame is sharp, and my skin gives so easy

• @Rookkit @starlitkit @wiltingkit @Hollowkit @larkspurkit
• KITE ; KITESTORM ; KITEWAIL 》 a small statured black tabby with compact muscles but the very first thing one would notice are the welted scars beneath their eyes. kitewail is perceptive & clever. may appear unfriendly due to neutral expressions but is very sociable, or rather once was; in their current situation kitewail does not speak to anyone unless they approach another first. they have a soft, monotonous voice with a rasp to it. their gentle side is only reserved for their unborn kits, they do not care much for any duskclanner.
  ✧ 43, ages every 21st ✧ they/them ✧ mate to Florabreeze
  ✧ peaceful powerplay allowed, all opinions IC

  
  

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[wiltingkit]

They know, as soon as they are born, that something is wrong. The first thing that the dusky child knows is the feeling of coldness. Kitewail heaves and convulses against their tiny body, and it is too much. Their muzzle trembles as they clean their daughter. This is not the kind birth that they should have known, surrounded by the warmth of their mother's clan. Something is wrong, and all that the kit can do is hide.

Wiltingkit. Their paws are nudged from their face, and they acquiesce easily. Unfurled and exposed in the moonlight, two fangs glint in a reminder of all that has been stolen. It is a small blessing that they cannot hear Kitewail's reaction.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

WILTINGKIT ㅤBIOGRAPHY ㅤ/ ㅤTOYHOU.SE
✿ nonbinary ( they / she ) ㅤ
✿ 0 moons oldㅤ & ages realistically, every 15th of the month
✿ kit of duskclan
✿ ㅤkitewail x florabreeze ㅤ
✿ littermate to rook-kit, starlitkit, hollowkit, larkspurkit
✿ penned by saturnid & ㅤmessage saturnids on discord for plots!

"SPEECH"

 

[Rookkit]

His heart did not want to beat. Perhaps it already knew the trials it would face should it start, the wretched weight it would be forced to carry throughout an entire lifetime. It relished the precious yet fleeting seconds in which it could feign voidance before the solace of what should not be was stripped away. It was violent, the motion of a serrated tongue scoring a shuddering chest to life- a sensation that although was meant to be tender- was a mimicry of the same unforgiving sting that tore the life from once burdened bodies.

He was handled with more mercy than what could be said of the others, the starved body he was pressed against growing colder and weaker with each convulsion. It seeped into his skin, his own bones encased with a newfound chill which promised a sorrowful existence, the warmth of love forever just inches beyond his reach. The milk that dripped into a starved maw was bitter poison, trickling down his throat and infecting innards once purified. It was acid upon a virgin tongue, and yet he continued to press for more with insatiable greed.

A chorus of heartbeats would soon join his own, the symphony of which was blasphemous and forbidden. Writhing bodies pressed against his own, the space which was once vacant closing in like a herd of controlled cattle...cattle to be sent to the slaughter. It would anger him, tiny claws glinting in the dawn's light as they scrambled for purchase against his sibling's tender flesh with little regard for the damage it might do.

But there is still innocence in such a thing, was there not? A child. A beautiful child. One that did not know the horror of what it truly meant to be alive, despite now living. Someday, he would maim. He would kill. He would sacrifice. He would bleed. He would exist in a world built by his own actions, damnation woven by him and him alone. But today, he was alive. He was innocent. He was unharmed, nor would he harm others.

But was he loved.

༺♰༻

ROOKKITㅤTAGS
♰ㅤmale (he / him)ㅤ/ㅤundiscovered sexuality, single
♰ㅤ2 moons oldㅤ/ㅤages realistically, every 0th of the month
♰ㅤkit of duskclan for 2 moons
♰ㅤkitewail x florabreezeㅤ/ㅤlittermate to larkspurkit, wiltingkit, starlitkit, hollowkit
♰ㅤmentoring noneㅤ/ㅤmentored by none
♰ㅤpenned by sloaneㅤ/ㅤmessage encarcerated on discord for plots!

shorthaired black smoke with heterochromatic eyes

 

[HOLLOWKIT.]

WHERE DID MY PARENTS GO?​

---

dark, quiet, and warm. that's what comfort has meant to them for the longest of times. it did not mean a single thing else– as they float aimlessly in the very place they've grown in. a full cycle of a tiny little life, and it feels cramped– wherever they are– but mostly they're content. why wouldn't they be, when this is all they've known? but all good things come to an end, and the solitude that comes from the soup is stolen from them, and they're forced out, only to find themself wet, cold, and hungry.

the little beast is born. stale as the air that hands around it, it only moves to find warmth that it's missing, crawling on weak little paws with soft claws pulling at the nest beneath its paws. there is little direction in the way sandpaper weaves through tangled and sticky fur, and it only finds itself pushed close enough to find food, scent of sweetness hanging in the air being it's next motivation for moving, and when approaching it's dinner... it does not eat. it does not take, for it becomes exhausted. the meal isn't going anywhere, and it decides to simply sleep. the beast is born. and it is deemed, by its maker, hollowkit.
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[starlitpaw]

The first breath is a painful one.

It rips through them with consequence, the rough tongue of their parent bringing to life what little spurs in their chest. It is not as if air enters their lungs and fills their chest to the brim - an already unknown feeling confusing their infant mind - but instead as if foreign claws tear at the length of their throat. It's cold, even as warm body after warm body curl next to them, and every breath is painfully accepted before greedily expelled.

It seems the discomfort they experience first is whipped across their parent tenfold; a haunting of their past, with star sewn tears streaming down their cheeks. The blaze atop their forehead is broken, too, torn apart by a wayward stream of the same ashen chocolate their dam brandishes. They cry, and perhaps Kitewail echos the sentiment. Starllit, blasphemy's harbinger, dredged up from the coals of hell and placed into the body of a useless juvenile. And they, none the wiser, settle into the rhythm of their siblings. They feed as more are named but less are looked at; they sleep as Kitewail finally is given reprieve. They live, even as the very idea of it hurts them so.​

 

[larkspurpaw]

The runt is born with the gall to struggle for his first breath and without any intention to he inflicts more anguish upon Kitewail. He takes a shuddering, mewling breath with Kitewail's less nurturing coaxing than what was granted to Rookkit. He is unceremoniously deposited beside his elder sibling, his mirror in how they came to be in this world. With hardly an audible mewl, the runt blindly worms his way closer to his parent, but he is kicked away by his siblings. It is only when Kitewail listlessly nuzzles him to his eldest sibling that the runt can find solace in their warmth, even if he was met with coldness upon his birth.

Kitewail does not speak his name, to do so would feel like poison on their tongue. They hardly cast a look in his direction, his frailness and crooked jaw remains unnoticed until days after the birth when the queen can finally bear to dote upon their kits. Only then his name is spoken for the first time as a virulent reminder of his mother's penchant for flowers. He will be a reminder of all the niceness in the world Florabreeze showed Kitewail, like the flowers in her garden Kitewail would have ignored for being useless before loving Florabreeze.

accordion

Larkspurkit is a black smoke/silver tabby chimera wip wip wip

Kitewail x Florabreeze / littermate to Rookkit, Starlitkit, Wiltingkit, Hollowkit / half-sibling to Magnoliashine
mentored by who / mentoring who
2 moons old as of 02/15/2025

penned by ken_unot

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