Faustian | warrior cats

x | headache

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DEATH was nothing beautiful. It didn't arrive along with the warm winds of the flock nor flutter in the afternoon breeze. It was a haunting feeling. It came swooping down like a single black feather; sweeping and trembling before it fell into the earth. Death circled in the sky, painting shadows of dark wings along the dust barren roads.

He remembered his death as though it was his own name. It would forever belong to him; the flash of headlights from the grumbling monster, the feeling of his claws trying to grip into the concrete- but there was nowhere to run, the screech of tires and the screech of his sister, "Deadrush!"

It hit him instantly. He was torn from the breath of life and suffocated in the next world. His death was painless but when he awoke in hell, he was full of pain. The longing to return to the real world was worse than the monster he had been hit by and the darkness swelling within him soon became darker than the forest he dwelled in. Desire had the power to give him whatever he wanted at whatever it cost- he just needed the right cat.

Once he found the lake of fire he would watch it all the time. Good spirits would come to take a drink, to bathe, to have a splash and spray, but none of them held the longing he was so desperately searching for.

Deadrush would see a hundred cats a day and none of them would drown in his bait. None of them wanted to dig their teeth into the meat of desire. They all knew it would be a messy feast but her- she was starving.

When he first felt her presence over the water, it felt as though he was staring straight into a reflection. She was in pain due to longing, like him, she was willing to do anything to return to the home she loved. He knew the deal was signed before she even fell through.

"Larkmoon."

"How do you know who I am?"

Because you are me.

―

The morning glories withered at the kiss of the cold wind. Their delicate purple petals tousled in torture, hiding from the vicious frost. Larkmoon understood the flowers completely, she feared the frisky wind, not wanting to leave the warmth of the warrior's den. The she-cat poked around, her eyes barely open from the exhaustion tugging them down.

The morning was more gray than usual. It wasn't colored in the brilliant spring blush, instead all new life seemed to be tired of living. Ash-colored clouds tumbled across the sky, making it hopeless for anything to look beautiful.

Larkmoon gathered the energy in her bones and moved out into the cold. She was instantly confronted by a crisp current, the winds delighted to tease and tug at her tabby fur. Above the wind, voices arose around the center of the camp. It lured her attention, causing her ears to point towards the commotion. Larkmoon hurriedly moved to the middle, the conversations growing blatant among her fellow clanmates.

"Do you think she's dead?"

"Where else could she have gone?"

Sounding like hauntings from ghosts, the whispers taunted her ears and awoke a heap of guilt sitting inside her chest. It stirred through her blood and made her feel hot instantly. The elder! She could see the memories from the previous night were still stained to her claws in a blood-red manner. Glancing rapidly around at the panic glistered among her clanmate's eyes set off a panic within herself. It's not my fault! Her subconscious was quick to lie. But Larkmoon remembered the moments all too clearly- she got carried away in the sensation of killing- the only feeling that made her feel truly alive.