The Cat

The light twists in on itself, distorting around her pale limbs.

A soul’s memories may be lost when departed from its flesh, but not even death can erase the intrinsic nature of one’s mind. Her curiosity, her fondness of the unknown and of discovery, became the origin of her own undoing. She was warned, but it’s far too late now. The light’s warped grasp was inescapable. Blindingly, it streams through the door and drags her back to her birthworld, every particle of her existence returning to a realm in which it did not belong.

To live untethered is to be subjected to a painful non-life, an unnatural side of existence that mustn’t be witnessed. It throws off the balance of the living things – of the energy that wills and motivates them. The energy is dangerous with no flesh to contain it. It writhes inside, a volatile thing that will erupt if provoked.

I do not blame that poor girl. It is, afterall, my own duty to guide them. For the soul to fail is my failure, and one I must rectify before…

…before it is too late.

Take me home
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