Of Vermin and Vigilance: Becoming Somina Swilovich

[TherapyCat]

((First Person POV))

Subject 1: Lucanus Servus/ "Stag Beetle"

Given Name: Anton

Found Location: The corpse was found in the hillside by the southern farms.

Visual Description: Male,  crimson Stag-like mandibles. Roughly the length and width of my index finger. The bodice is black, and sealskin brown.

Prior Knowledge: One of the most commonly known beetles within Barovia. The Males of these species warrant the beetle's name for they have stag-like antlers and use them in the same fashion as deer for male-on-male battles and conflict. They vary in size based on where they are bred. Those in regions such as Folknovia growing much larger than those in Dementileu. It thrives in regions that have vast hillsides and moderate levels of sun exposure. It prefers the canopies of oak, willow, ash, cherry, chestnut, and walnut trees. Their Natural Predators are cats, foxes, and crows.  The male of this species has enlarged mandibles that are larger than their female counterparts. Although the male's mandibles appear threatening in theory, they are virtually useless. They are rather harmless and other than needed for reproductive purposes; considerably useless as well. The females, however, inflict a rather painful bite.

((Third Person POV))
Chapter 1: Siblings And Squirrel Secrets

Spoiler: show

"Simona!" the clear voice of her older brother rang through the forest as he chased her mercilessly Her jovial giggles echoed in mirth as she hopped over bits of bramble and decaying leaves. It was autumn within vallaki, and the world felt warmer then, brighter. Quite agile from a young age, she took every turn within the forest masterfully, as if she had taken the time to properly memorize it. This game of prey and predator would continue for a time, as the sun lowered in its position. As dusk fell amongst the forest, Simona would halt, turning about in half expectance to see her brother. But when she turned in every direction, he was nonexistent.

"Stefan?" She muttered about her tone betraying some fear of existing in a world without him. Even only if it was temporary. Her brows knitted, and she took a breath to repeat his name when he suddenly lunged out of the bramble, laughing like a storybook villain. The sudden jolt in movement would force Simona to leer to the left, tripping over the unexpected bramble. Her body would roll down a shallow slope and into a ditch. Her eyes would clench in fear when they opened again she with greeted by the dull gaze of a squirrel carcass. Its eyes were empty and devoid of any signs of life. Its innards were on display, half-eaten.


"Simona!" the voice of her brother would call out unto her again, this time in evident concern as he raced to the edge of the slope, peering down into the ditch below. A small huff of relief as he found his sister. Still not content until he saw her standing once more, however. Only eight winters at the time, her little palm reached out to touch the face of the deceased creature. Her lip curled into a small opportunistic smile.

"I'm Okay!" she peered over her shoulder to her brother. Her eyes were a shade brighter than he had likely seen before. She watched Stefan stall a moment, eyeing her with evident confusion and mild dismay. His eyes squinted into a brief grimace at the sight, taking a moment before speaking.

"....I'm going to get Pa." he half muttered, obviously troubled as he shifted back behind the bramble.

Alone with the creature. She'd scoop him up, innards and all, and delicately place him into her backpack. The rest of the memory is a blur. Her knees and arms scraped with injury and bled the entire way back to the slum district. Where'd she follow her brother and father as they fussed over her wounds that she seemed to be numb to… She'd answer her mother's endless questions, survive her father's relentless lecture, and listen to Stefan's whines about witnessing death for the time with a placid expression. A nod here, a small frown there. She had become a master at saying "It won't happen again." She had learned to copy her brother's expression of dismay, and when to deploy it at the same time. A skill that she'd use later in life no doubt. When they all found rest during the night. She climbed down from her top bunk, taking her backpack from underneath the floorboards where she had hidden it when she excused herself at dinner.

With a demented smile, the youth displayed the squirrel carcass on the ground and took out a needle and thread. Taking a thick golden thread, and looping it through the eye of the needle, she'd begin to shove its innards back inside and create a crooked, zig-zag stitch until it was pieced back together once more. She'd clean up the bloodied bits with soap and water until she felt the dead creature looked proper. With a childlike gleam to her features, she'd hold up her abomination up to the moonlight, appraising it.

"..Simona?" she snapped her head to hear the rustling of her brother waking up from his bed. A look of pure horror. 

And yet, not an ounce of remorse on Simona's features.
As if that was something she was yet to be taught.

[TherapyCat]

Chapter II:

What Is Factual:

Spoiler: show

Simona was always a creature of deep fascination. Although the topic of interest would change and shift, as she grew with age, the behavior and mannerisms she exhibited while nurturing this obsession, didn't.

Simona's first obsession was death. Or perhaps, the feeling of dread that surrounded it. Being a barovian youth, she'd attended many funerals within her lifespan. She'd observe the tears streaming from the cheeks of the remaining survivors. And although she observed it, she didn't quite fathom it. She'd replicate the motion, once she was told this was the societal expectation, but it didn't truly mean anything to her. To die, was to accept the truth that life has an end. Amongst the mortal shells of our being. It was a simple, unavoidable thing…

Stefan crept from his bed slowly…his steps timid as he ventured closer to simona… "Sim… I--."
His words stuttered for quite some time. Simona stared back at him silently. She didn't move to hide her creature, her actions. She didn't race to defend herself. She stood there silently, her beady eyes staring at him as she observed his reaction. "You..You need to give that to me." he swallowed something, making a motion to the animal corpse.

"Is it owed to you?" she asked the question softly within the night. In a fluid motion her body rose, her legs finding the strength to stand. She cradled her abomination within her grasp like one would a ragdoll.

"...I suppose it isn't but.. Simona." He tried again. The floorboards creaked as she drew closer. Stefan stared at her, body remained still, slightly horrified within her wake. "...Simona.. This is not normal."

"...Is that proven?" she said simply. Walking until she stood infront of him. There was a genuine air of innocence as she peered between her brother and the mobid doll.

"...It is." he said with a deep-set frown.. Hesitantly his hands would reach out to grasp at her shoulders. At his wrist, his hand shook lightly. He mustered a smile, tightlipped and terrified. Her spoke to her with a sense of forced calmness. "...He is.. Dead. Simona.. He should be laid to rest… We need to dispose of him… now before Mother sees."

"I know he is dead." she quipped with an obvious air. Her eyes narrowed, casual despite his apparent frightful nature. "It has been proven. He was missing several vital organs. He does not appear to be breathing, either. That is a fact." she nodded surely.

"...Then.. why do you feel the need to." he motioned to her stitches, her grasp in which she held the creature. His eyes still quiver in apprehension.

"...Practice." is all she stated. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Stefan shook his head multiple times. "...You need to." he paused at the sound of footsteps. Both of their heads turned to their mother who stood in the doorway

[TherapyCat]

Chapter III:

((First Person Pov))

Subject 1: Misumena vatia/ Goldenrod Crab Spider

Given Name: Tereza

Found Location: In my bunk at Krezek

Visual Description: Female, a pale-yellow color, with a white enlaced pattern. It can walk both horizontally and vertically.

Prior Knowledge: Females grow larger. These spiders can change colors to adapt to their surroundings. Sometimes they also take on the color of the last prey they have eaten. Although the process is lengthy, and I observed it took up to twenty-five days. They have two rows of eyes. Giving them eight in total.  They use venom to capture their prey, although it is likely harmless to humans. These spiders are quite common and are often found in goldenrods. I traveled here with herbs in my bag. It is possible I had a castaway without realizing it. The females die shortly after their eggs have hatched. After the mating cycle is concluded, female spiders usually practice cannibalism and eat the males.

Spoiler: show

January 5th, 778

The sisters of Krezek alerted me that writing passages about vermin does nothing for my mental state. They don't have any feasible evidence to denounce this statement as a fact. Still, regardless, I will do as instructed and write thoughts that they consider to be intrusive and unsavory to most so that I do not commit them, and thus hurt people within the process.

I have already failed at one of the virtues they taught me. It's not my fault, truly. Or perhaps it is entirely. I tried using this stupid bracelet and slapping myself on the wrist when I felt the urge to touch someone. Or even think about touching them. It isn't working. Or perhaps it did work for some time. But as my wrist grew raw, and red I pondered how effective this truly was. At a certain point, I began to feel numb to the feeling. I could flail myself, but as I learned while punishing outlanders, I never had the strength to be decent at this. I suppose I will find new ways to torture myself so I can become moral once more.

I crave connection. Intimacy, and if I only craved this for one person, perhaps it wouldn't be immoral. And If that one person was a man, then perhaps it would even be acceptable. But the truth of this is that I crave multiple people, and the one suitor that would be seemingly 'good' for me, seems to not favor me physically at all. I am told this is a good thing, that he wishes to 'know' me at a deeper level, but I feel this is not it. I am also not entirely confident that I desire to be known at a deeper level. I enjoy my mystery. My secrets. I enjoy unsavory things that have nothing to do with promiscuity.

I do not wish to be known at all really, I wish to be adored in a way that makes me feel as if I have been savored, and not used and thrown away. But I also wish for it to be passionate, reckless, and at times perhaps even indecent. But I cannot have this. This 'perfect' person does not exist. Everyone I crave has some fatal flaw. Some reason I cannot choose them fully. It is frustrating at times, but perhaps I enjoy it. Being used in this way, and using other people. I know it is wrong now. I feel remorse and shame for this. I feel regret. I do not enjoy inflicting pain on other people… well. Not people like this. Not in this way.

My intrusive thought isn't as harmless or as raunchy as one might predict. I could tell you that I wondered if she tasted the same as before. I could tell you, that I wish he did more than hold my hand, and I could tell you that I don't feel shame when I have to conceal bruises on my body. I could confess all these things, but it wouldn't make me immoral. What makes me immoral is that I still, don't know how to stop desiring any of this, despite being 'cured.'

The sisters told me to take it one day at a time. And I have failed this day, and will likely fail the next. At Least my needle-point is improving.

((Third Person POV))

Failure In Fragments:

Spoiler: show

"Mona!" Simona's Mother  waved her over, to the table she was standing in front of. She remembered how her mother looked that day. Beyond exhaustion, the red circles underneath her eyes. Her ankles were swollen, and her stomach extended several inches in front of her waist. She had grown heavy with a child that would never come to fruition. When she waved Simona over, it was a desperate wave, she knew what it meant. She wandered over, to greet the Patron.

Simona knew this one. Nandru.

When she was nine, And Nandru was 43  Nandru grabbed her arm a bit too tightly, in passing as he handed her his tip for his whiskey.
When she was ten,  and Nadru was 44, Nandru said that she was "Going to be a real heartbreaker."
When she was eleven, And Nandru was 45,  Nandru whispered to his friends, with a smirk, and a crooked thumb over his shoulder.
When She was twelve,  And Nandru was 46, His loud, boisterous voice filled the Tigan's rest, with a joke he thought was humorous, that Simona to this day still couldn't find the enjoyment in, only shame.

And today, Simona was thirteen. And Nadru was 47,  she walked up to Nandru, he stared at her, like she was more appetizing than the meal he had on his plate.

"What Is It Ma?" She adverted looking at the man. A soft smile as she regarded her mother, patiently.

"My service won't do it seems." she patted simona on the shoulder.

"This one wants you, by request." Her mother thumbed to Nandru.

"...I am busy, I have four other tables." Simona protested, looking at her mother with desperation. It was lie she only had two.

"...Well, looks like you got five," Nandru smirked to Simona, will all four of his teeth present.

"That you do." Simona's mother pushed past her, not in the mood to devote any more time to this matter. Simona's eyes followed her mother as she brushed past her. As she failed her for not the first time, and likely not the last.


Simona swallowed something. Before turning back in Nadru's direction, but not meeting his gaze. "What do you need, more whiskey?"

"An honest chance with a girl like you." he muttered, raising his empty tankard.

"I'm not going to be that sort." she protested taking the glass, failing to hide the disdain on her features.

"What sort?" He snorted, he never knew what was a joke and what was serious.

"...I'm going to be a gaurdswomen. Corporal, Probably. I won't have time or desire for marriage... Or.. Anything like that."

"Anything like that." He muttered bitterly, a hand goes to snag unto her arm.

"What does a girl like you know about 'anything like that' anyway? Do you think you're going to get out of here Swilovich? Let me tell you something. Your ma is nothing but a wench, you're nothing but a wench. You could do worse than me, should be grateful. You'll see. " He sunk his nails into her arm. Silently, Simona's eyes turned to look at her mother. But it was a lost cause. She had already failed her once. She looked at her father, and he smiled of all things. Lastly, she looked to her brother, who looked into an empty tankard.  She looked at and begged three different people, but they didn't dare to look at her. To see her expression. Her fear.

They failed to see her.

[TherapyCat]

Chapter IIII:

((First Person POV)):

Subject 1: Pyrrhocoris apterus "Firebug."

Given Name: Vivana

Found Location:Found Near Lake Zarovich

Visual Description: Black with Red Spots

Prior Knowledge: They can be seen in tandem formation when mating which can take from 12 hours up to 7 days. The long period of copulation is probably used by the males as a form of ejaculate-guarding under high competition with other males. Despite that, they are mostly uninteresting.

Spoiler: show

January 8th 779,




The Sisters at the hospice enlightened me that I should speak freely, and tell those around me how I feel in an appropriate and mature manner. However, after practicing this recently, I don't think anyone truly wishes to hear what I uttermost feel and think. So I will negate this practice entirely. In fact, after conducting my experiments with this 'tell-all method' I have concluded that I should do the exact opposite, and either be as silent or as vague as possible.

Because in truth, when I speak how I feel I either leave those feeling exhausted and hurt, or they ignore me completely. The bracelet is useless. I still have these thoughts. When I told one the meaning of it, he still devoured me completely. The woman I craved previously, has no interest in me, and I feel as if she is starting to loathe me to a degree. I know she thinks herself superior to me, which is interesting. I fathom this feeling slowly, I suspect. I will not share words of meaning with her again. She even warned me. "Be Careful Simona."  It is time I regard her as a rival, rather than a confidant. When she asks me about my day, I will practice bland terms like "Good, and fine." I will give as little information as possible. Guarded, like the walls that surrounded our great city I will become again. Perhaps it is better this way. The less I desire her, that is another person I cannot harm.

I haven't felt this intense amount of rage in some time. To be denied a substance that is natural to me. That my body craves, and argumentally what it needs to function, is a newfound way of torture. I would've accepted any response he gave me. Anything, if it came from his lips. His truth, his mind. But I know that it didn't, and that is what turns knots within my stomach and makes my blood begin to boil.

"Until we are married." Feels like an indefinite sentence. A Cowardly way of of denial. Who deemed marriage to be the fruit of human romantic social interactions? A man, I would gather. Because once I am to be his wife, I am in this entanglement, I am owed and everything I work for is to become his also. Of course marriage to him is this frivolous thing, that can he stomach waiting until, but I do not know if this "until" will ever become a "Now." I pondered the idea of marrying him before. I could do worse. It is what my father would've wanted. He is a decent man. I will outlive him. He makes a decent income. He does not seem to desire, me, and I know now the reason. He pledged his loyalty to some other woman some time ago. Either that or he sees me as a liability that he doesn't trust. Would I trust myself? Likely not. Trusting others is a useless pastime. There is not a person alive who is capable of never failing another. The whole arrangement, he has with her, over the rights to my body, our bodies, entertwining seems foul. A punishment is given by someone who thinks they are higher. Wiser. Are knowing more. Perhaps in her mind, she tells herself it is 'in my best interest." I am a woman. A grown woman. Capable of making my own decisions, Entraping me in marriage by taunting a drunkard for a sip of Tsuika, is not thinking of their best interest, it is punishing them for a lifestyle they do not agree with.

Do I deserve to be punished? No. I don't believe so. The consequences of my actions bare enough burden. I am not as much of a simpleton as they perceive me to be. I am aware that no one truly likes me. No one truly favors me. It has always been this way, and I deem it will always be so. He claims he likes me, truly. He claims that he wants me even. But I always hated words. Hated poetry. Hated promises only exist between a capital letter and a period. I despise it all. At Least within the action of imatacy, we can both pretend for a moment, that some part of me is desirable-- and that would be enough.

((Third Person POV)):

The Fate Of Fire:

Spoiler: show

"Be Quiet," Simona muttered to Nandru, as he climbed up through the window into the girl's bedroom. The drunkard barreled into the window, one using one hand to support himself, as the other held a flask of.. Something, that he poured out all over the ground, as he stumbled closer to Simona. He wandered over, to take around of her chin, smiling between the gaps in his rotted teeth.

"I knew you'd come around to idea, of me Sim."

Simona peered at him, a placid expression. One of acceptance, but not of enthusiasm as she stared upon the rapidly declining middle-aged man.

"Could do worse." she half muttered, more to herself.

"That's the spirit, Good," he grunted, ruffling with her skirts, as he pushed her against the dresser. The lit candle at the end burned brightly. Simona's eyes remained on that candle as the act progressed. The dresser rattled, and the candle moved closer and closer to the edge. His hand holding the flask dipped down, it's contents spilling everywhere. Her eyes would flicker to her brother Stefan, asleep in his bunk. Content. Happy. Secure and Safe. Her eyes would draw to the ceiling, perhaps thinking of every alternative than the reality of this moment. Her eyes drifted to the door below, where her parents lay. A silent prayer that they wouldn't awake and see this indecency, a silent hope that they would. She stared anywhere, then at the fate she had accepted.

Or perhaps it wasn't fate at all. The candle eventually fell off the dresser, into the floor, igniting the trail of alcohol that had spilled, unto it reached the one who emptied it. Nandru's body suddenly engulfed in a frenzy of flames. He turned away from Simona. Seizing. Screaming. Pleading and fighting for life. Simona didn't move. She didn't attempt to help. She didn't even attempt to run. She simply stood there and stared. The same placid expression rested on her features.

Stefan however, rustled from his bed and started Screaming to Simona as the room quickly rose into flames. It would be a blur. All other events of this night that followed it would seem insignificant and would remain that way with a sudden numbness for the rest of existence. For days she didn't speak. She didn't move. Not when Stefan slung her over his shoulder, and out the window. Not when the fire spread below to the basement, and took both of her parents within a single noapte. Not at the funeral. Not for weeks. She didn't say a word. She didn't emit an emotion. Silence was not foreign to her.

[TherapyCat]

Chapter IV:

Subject 1: Polygonia c-album "Comma Butterfly"


Given Name: Diana

Found Location: Half a wing found on the window ledge outside the lady's rest.

Visual Description: Orange dorsal wing with black spots. Folded, the wing could be confused for a dead leaf.

Prior Knowledge: as a food generalist, they can eat a variety of plants to survive. Leading to widespread ranges across lands. While rare, their sex can also mutate and change due to breeding environments at the time.

((First Person Pov))

Spoiler: show

January 10th, 779.

The sisters never warned me about when love would shift into loathing. Did I love her? I am still determining. She said the words to me so swiftly, but they came like an avalanche all at once and only after a day. To conclude a person so rapidly seems almost impossible. It had to be.
And what did she love about me in that time frame anyhow? How did I speak to her in a drunken stupor? Was she truly that starved for a compliment that she found solace in my desire to equate her to flowers? Did she love how I threw a chair across the room in frustration? Did she love the taste of Tsuika on my lips, and dissociation within my visage? I am not sure. I think she confused sensation with love and pleasure with devotion. I find one of these things far easier to find than the latter.

I did like her. I liked her wit. The way she knew how to manipulate people around her with what color she wore. How she pretended to know less than she did. I liked the way she knew people. Understood fundamentally. How they functioned. How to respond. I liked the way her bow slid over it's strings when she played. I liked how her hands held that stupid crossbow as if it was some divine device. I liked the way her smile spread across her cheeks when she thought something was humorous. There was much to like about her.

But she betrayed me. And not with frivolous things, like the flesh of another person, or a harsh statement that could be easily forgiven. She sought to destroy me. What mattered most, was likely the only thing I have ever truly loved doing. She betrayed me.

She will become nothing to me. I have promised to be civil. I throw in pleasant antidotes about the weather. I'll ask about her family, or a new hairstyle if she ever permits one. I'll inquire about the meal she had previously, but I will never allow myself to know her again. To like her again. I have determined such would be a weakness on my part. A frivolity I cannot afford. She will not be my enemy, she will not be my ally. Both of these take up far too much effort and fascination. No, she will become a stranger to me.

I told him to write if he desired me and he hasn't. I suppose that is my answer. To forget him also. Seems simple enough. He was never good for me anyway. Even if he filled some need. I gather he isn't special. There will be others that can fulfill this purpose. I will forget him also.

In a way, I have been forced to become a kept woman. A loyal woman. It is proving to be difficult but not impossible. No matter what I truly do or say he still seems to favour me. It is oddly unconditional. I don't trust it fully. It.. feels oddly nice. Comforting. He said he was proud of me today. No one has ever stated that. Not father. Not Stefan. Not Mother. Or any other partner I have been with besides-- It's not important. It's just a phrase. I shouldn't think of it that deeply and allow it to flatter me. The wolves nearly shredded my arm to pieces. It's weird having it wrapped up. I've never held a sword like that before. The outlanders must think me weak. Coated in my blood, hands trembling.


I wonder if it will scar. Likely not. He seemed to focus his attention to mending it properly. He focuses his attention on everything regarding me. He overlooks my faults, however. His perception is a choice, purposeful. When he states that he loves me, I do believe it.

I wonder if I am capable of ever returning this emotion, to anyone.
Part of me hopes that I am.
Part of me also knows that hope is a wasted virtue.

((Third Person POV))

Chapter 4: Butterflies And Opium

Spoiler: show

It was  fall again within vallaki. The Eastern Forrest was as lush at it ever had been. Simona laid in the grass with her hair spread out around her in a wave. Her eyes focused on the shifting clouds as the light beamed its way through the treetops. Beside her, laid the only person in her childhood Simona could truly consider a friend, Diana. And even that was something borrowed from her brother.
Diana was a pretty little thing. She had long, well-kept blonde hair, and honey-tilted brown eyes. She smiled when she spoke, and her laugh was embroidered with warmth. The pair met when they were in their earlier teens, slinging drinks down at the Tigans. Diana was a patron favorite for her sunshine demeanor and her charisma. Diana and Simona had nothing remotely in common. But yet, every Thursday, on their mutual day off, they would gather here together, to speak of any and everything.

"Your brother can be a real ass, Mona." Diana sighed out heavily, as she leaned against the trunk of the tree. Taking a drawl from her pipe. Before extending it out to Simona, her brows raised in exasperation.

"You don't have to tell me, Di, I am well aware." Simona snorted crudely, before waving off her pipe.

"If you get caught with that-- that's a lash for every-" Diana cut simona off, mocking her.

"For every pound you have-- I know. Mona. I know." she lazily smirked, blowing a cloud of opium-enriched air into her face before cackling. "Iadul. You don't let up do you?"

"I have no idea what you mean." Simona frowned, waving the smoke out of her direction.

"Sure you do. Miss law follower, book reading, garda thumping, zealot." Diana took her feet, humorously jabbing it at simona's side in jest.

"You know, Stefan is going to get this way too, when I'm of age. He's going to get more serious about this. We have to. Take it serious." Simona frowned, closing her eyes once more.

"Your brother doesn't have a serious bone in his body-- that's the problem."
"Problem? I thought my brother made you happy."

"He does Mona.. but He's never going to commit to me. Never get serious. Settle down."

"What? Diana.. What makes you think that?"

"...I don't know. Something.. About your parents? Or something. Every time I speak of it he gets evasive. Makes me wonder.. If there's someone else, or something. Or there's something wrong with me."

"Wrong with you? Diana. There's fundamentally nothing wrong with you."

"You would'nt know-- you're not a man. Maybe-- there's something about me that's… repelling.. Or improper.. Or unseemingly."

"Diana--" Simona sat up with annoyance, turning to give the woman her entire attention as she rambled on.

"Or maybe-- Maybe I talk too much? I talk too much don't my mother always said that a man likes a woman who is--."

Simona with a sudden force grabbed the woman, setting a kiss to her lips. It was fond. It was passionate. It was genuine. She had wanted to to that since the moment she saw her in the bar. The lack of restraint she felt in this moment felt freeing. Felt euphoric to a degree. She savored every part of her that she could. The way her lips tasted. The way the smoke sat on her clothing. The way Diana's breath caught, and the pace of her heart quickened. She remembered all of it.

Diana pulled away in horror, almost instantly.

"Wha-- Why would you disgrace me like this!? I thought you to be my best friend and your brother is my---." Diana scrambled onto her feet. Her once-beloved pipe was discarded into the earth. Her peace is no longer to be found.

"I'm not like that-- I'm not like the outlanders without Morals." she brought up a hand to cover her mouth, in shame.

"...You will never speak to me again. You hear me? You-- You.. You Freak!" she shrieked in dismay, before running away. Simona watched her exit. Before directing her gaze to the pipe on the ground.

At that moment, she wished she was nothing but a man.

[TherapyCat]

CHAPTER VI:

((First Person POV)):

Subject 1: Black Alley Cat (Deceased)


Given Name: Sorin

Found Location: Behind The Broken bell.

Visual Description: Black, longhaired cat. Missing one eyeball. The other is currently being ingested by maggots.

Prior Knowledge: Frail. Malnourished. Likely an unloved. unfavoured stray. Perhaps belonged to a witch that no longer saw use in it.

Spoiler: show

January 23, '79




I am not as desirable as I once deemed myself to be. I'm not an idiot mind you, I realize that in every species there is a female within the mating grounds, that has the most desirable features. In Cats, for example, it is a calico or a tortoiseshell, for they have the most patterns, and for some reason-- that is the most desired gene that the species wishes to see replicated. In the world of mating, I am the black cat. Void of color and patterns. I am dull, easily replicated, and commonly found. I have accepted this. That is why I make myself readily available. Easy, perhaps is the word that has been used previously with a negative connotation. I don't see why, however. If a woman knows what she wants, and it is easy to come by, why shouldn't she take it. Does this this drive, not make her ambitious? I believe so.

She hates me now, and the world as it stands.
He stopped writing. I'll never see him again.
He wants me to marry him, and it feels like imprisonment.


But today, someone new approached me. He said he wanted to buy me dinner. A common tactic. So I let him buy me dinner. I enjoy potatoes. My favorite starch.  He is blonde. That's a new one. Like an orange tabby, I gather that he could do well in the mating world if he desired. The days have faded into weeks since I have been touched. I feel feral. Rabid. I cannot think of anything else. He's saying words, and I half hear them. I couldn't tell you anything else about his appearance other than-- he's blonde.

He's quick to smile, I guess, some  Master of flattery, he speaks softly, and sincerely, and I am sure that gets quite the ample display of admirers. I found his frivolous nature to be a bit lackluster. He went on and on about how intriguing he found me to be. Intriguing. Every person who has laid in my bed, has said this once, And then after the act is committed, I am dull. Or after I say too much about myself, I am dull. Fact is, I am intriguing. I am fascinating . I am intrepid. I know this. I asked him blankly, if he wished to devour me upstairs within in a innroom, and he got all flustered, stating that was not his intention. Stating that he just wished to know me. "Befriend" me. I do not require friends. I've had them before. They are draining. Time, resources, and emotions. I am at my peak. I will not be greater than this within my lifetime.  After he denied my carnal desires, I made it quite clear there is nothing else he could give me that I would find interest in. He is hopeful. He states that he wishes we can speak again. He tried to pry into my life. Question after question.

"Do you not trust people?"
"Do you not want friends?"


I don't want to speak. I don't want to be known. I want to be consumed.

I don't understand why that is such a foreign concept.

((Third Person POV))

Squirrel Secrets (Continued):

Spoiler: show

Somina's mother rushed into the room, grabbing her by the arm, and flinging her onto stefan's bed, as she delivered several blows to her rear, as her punishment for the squirrel escapades.
Stefan watched with horror, as the squirrel corpse crashed onto the floor. Simona cried endlessly, not because of guilt, or her punishment, but merely because she was without her prized creation.

"What-- What is wrong with you!?" Simona's mother yanked her from the bed then, holding the young girl by the shoulders as she glared at her, with pure desperation.

"..He is my friend." simona pleaded quietly, reaching for the squirrel corpse, struggling in her mothers grasp, dire to reclaim it.

Her mother stood with horror, as she fought her wiggling child within her grasp. "He- he is not your friend, Simona, he is a squirrel-- And he is dead. He Is GONE."

"He.. speaks to me." she whined, tears forming in her blackened, mouse-like eyes.

"Stop! Stop-- you do not mean to say things like that!" Her mutter screamed at her, terrified.

Stefan cowered into the corner, slumping against the wall and hugging his knees as he watched the altercation, silently.

"It's the truth!" Simona screamed back, clawing at her arms to break free, her fingernails pressing into her mother's skin.


"Simona-- Simona Stop!" she warned the girl, before delivering a sharp blow to her daughter's cheek. Simona slunk onto the floor, with a sharp thud. She didn't race to comfort herself, she merely hugged the squirrel corpse to her chest, like it was her newborn child she had to protect.

Her mother seethed, and loomed over her, as Simona's cheek was stained red with a hand imprint.

"... Simona. You-- You get rid of that. Before your father sees. If he sees you like this I cannot protect you." the anger shifted into something else, as she looked down at her daughter in pity.

"...Father loves me." she choked out briefly, a small sob.

"/I/ love you!" Her mother quipped, shaking with fear, as she joined the girl unto the floor.
"I love you…" she said sternly, in a quieter tone, a look of guilt as she looked to where she stuck her.

"...But you are scaring me." she pleaded. Looking between the squirrel and Simona. Eventually her gaze drifted to Stefan, in the corner. As if encouraging him to speak.

Stefan sniffed, and wandered over, kneeling beside simona as well. He sets a hand on her shoulder.

"...You don't need him mona. You have me. I'm your friend." He said, with obvious hesitation. He smiled at Simona, and that was enough for her to believe it.

That's likely the last time, she believed it.

[TherapyCat]

January 30th, 779.


I have a friend.