Rorri

　　The Madam enters the room, a sharp, soulless silhouette. Rorri stands between her and her daughter, arms crossed in defiance.

　　"Go back to where you came from," the Madam hisses. Rorri shakes his head.

　　"I`d rather die."

　　The Madam raises her hand to strike. Rorri watches it ignite, but he has no fear. Not today. Behind him, Shacia whimpers and cries.

　　"I won`t let her hurt you," he says. "You have my word."

　　"Shut up, Rorri!" Shacia shouts. Startled, he tumbles backwards, right into the Madam`s lap. The Madam lays her hand atop his head, setting it ablaze. The heat is unbearable.

　　"Why won`t you let me help you?" he screams.

　　"Because you don`t know what you`re doing!"

　　The Madam steals her daughter away, dragging her like a scared dog on a leash, leaving Rorri to burn in his former tutor`s bedroom. He pounds his fists against the floor and sobs, like a toddler having a tantrum, bathing the room in his fiery glow.

　　*******

　　In the days following their visit to the manor, Rorri stayed unusually quiet. Adar did his best to open him up, but he kept sealed, a stubborn clam. Though Shacia had never had any fond words for the Madam, he never could have imagined how truly awful she was. Her presence alone was enough to suffocate the entire room. If demons were real, he thought to himself, the Madam must be among their ranks. The darkness she exuded had a supernatural quality. Even the memory of it made his skin crawl. He wanted to save Shacia from that place, but he couldn`t. He was helpless, hopeless, and useless.

　　"Simmer until saucy`...?" Adar murmured from the kitchen across the hall. "What does that mean?"

　　"It means keep it simmering until it`s got the consistency of a sauce," Rorri called. "Obviously," he added under his breath.

　　Poppy rested at Rorri`s side, keeping his thigh warm. Rorri petted him, though his heart wasn`t in it. The void was exceptionally dark that day. Not a single hallucination had danced in his mind since he`d woken from his nap. Though it was just a dream, his head still burned from the Madam`s fire, and Shacia`s refusal of his help left him feeling heavy and alone. It was the sort of day that he couldn`t decide whether he`d rather sleep or stay awake. If he could pick neither, he would.

　　"Sauce comes in lots of different consistencies," Adar said. "But it doesn`t say if it should be a thin sauce or a thick sauce, it just says saucy."

　　"It doesn`t matter," Rorri said, rubbing his eyelids. "Just follow your heart."

　　"Mau?"

　　Poppy`s meow barely registered on Rorri`s numb mind. He kept petting the cat anyway, but he was just going through the motions. He loved him, but he just couldn`t feel anything. Perhaps if he could see him with his eyes - if he could see what Shacia would have woken up to pawing at her face, the way he often roused Rorri - he might be stirred to feel something, some affection or warmth, but he just& couldn`t. He wanted so badly to see, to really see. He wanted to count how many of Poppy`s toes were white, to see what his half-mustache really looked like. He wanted to appreciate Poppy`s whiskers, but he couldn`t even do that, and the thought maddened him. Were they black? White? Both? If he only had some white whiskers, how many were there? Adar said he had once burned some of them sniffing a candle. Did they ever grow back? He could ask, but it wasn`t the same as knowing. It wasn`t fair. Why should he be deprived of the simple pleasure of knowing his cat`s face? What had he done to deserve such darkness?

　　(Rorri was so consumed by his frustrated thoughts, he didn`t quite notice the building tingle in his head. The sensation mingled with the sound of Poppy`s purr. His scritches upon Poppy`s forehead were growing rough and agitated, but the cat didn`t seem to mind.)This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author`s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

　　In that moment, Rorri would trade anything - anything - for a chance to see Poppy`s whiskers. He was sick of his own helplessness. He couldn`t resign himself to this pitiful existence any longer. He had to do something. He had to see again, somehow. He had to. What else was there to live for?

　　(Poppy rubbed his face against Rorri`s palm forcefully, the edge of his tooth catching against the skin between his thumb and forefinger.)

　　He couldn`t bear it any longer. The darkness, the silence, the gut-wrenching knowledge of what Shacia was made to feel every day of her life - he couldn`t let it continue.

　　(Rorri truly didn`t realize what he was doing. Despite his tutor`s lectures on Will and intent, his most powerful displays of magic always crept up on him unawares.)

　　He let his head bob to the side, his eyes drifting behind his eyelids until they rested where his hand met Poppy`s head. Poppy stretched out his legs, his claws catching on Rorri`s pajamas, and Rorri scratched his thumb against the soft groove at the top of the cat`s nose. Something throbbed in the pit of Rorri`s skull, near the base of his neck, like he`d somehow bumped his brain on the door frame. His ears felt as if they were leaking warm water. He opened his eyes, and in the void, a desperate pink river of magic flowed out from the sides of his head towards the cat, carrying his Will:

　　S H O W M E Y O U R W H I S K E R S

　　Poppy

　　I am a kitten.

　　I live in the shadows of the city`s cobbled streets. Mother leaves me and my siblings alone, huddled up in a damp, splintered crate. We must keep quiet, lest the dogs find us. When she returns, she drops her dinner to feast as we fight for her teat. Blood spills from the rat`s gutted body. I am the smallest, the runt of the litter. My brothers and sisters push me away by their own brute strength, leaving me to starve in the cold dust. And yet, I survive, however frail my hunger leaves me.

　　Time passes&

　　*******

　　Mother`s hunts run longer every day. My siblings find their own sustenance in crumbs, roaches, and sickened mice. But I am not a hunter, and they drive me away from their spoils. Mother lets me feed upon her for far longer than I ought. She pities me. I see it in the shine that dwells in her eyes every time she looks at me&

　　One day, a rare sliver of sunlight graces our alley. It`s the perfect spot for a bath. The streets are calm and quiet. I lay and stretch out my tired limbs, lick my paws, scrub my filthy head - but without provocation, my brother pounces. He bites my neck and kicks me, his sharp claws hooking into my flesh. I cry - Mew! Mew! - but he persists. No matter how hard I struggle, I cannot break from his grasp. I have always been small, the runt of the litter, but my brother is strong, far stronger than I can ever hope to become. Finally, mother rips him from me and sets him on the ground far away. I lay panting in the corner of the alley, grateful for this respite from combat, but she gives me a sharp, disapproving look, as if to say, You will never survive in this world.

　　And yet, I survive.

　　Time lumbers on&

　　*******

　　Mother has not returned from her hunt. A whole day passes. I am restless, hungry. My brothers and sisters disperse, no longer willing to wait, but I remain in our alley. It is all that I know. I plead for her return - How else will I survive? I simply do not have the spirit of a hunter.

　　I climb to the top of the tallest crate, the one under which mother hid us all those weeks ago. I sing the song of my people, hoping that mother might hear me above the cacophony of dogs and birds, above the din of the two-legged giants, but she does not return. My body is weak. My life force is waning. My song grows quieter with every passing hour. I am not much longer for this world&

　　But a soft coo wakes me from the brink of eternal slumber.

　　I open my eyes. A white-faced giant looms over my withering form. Perhaps desperation is impairing my judgment, but I sense no malice in this one. She hums softly - a sound I`ve never heard among the giants - and her eyes crease to small slivers. She scratches my forehead with one long, pale claw, eliciting a sense of comfort I haven`t felt since last my mother bathed me. I make no motion to escape as she scoops me into her warm, hairless paws.

　　I am a kitten&

　　And today, I am saved.