Hello and welcome to Purrgatory! We are an 18+ Warrior Cat Roleplay set in an AU where the clans were unable to leave the forest territories and perished!
It has been 100 or more years since then, the clans of the forest are but distant memories to any cats still alive, stories passed down to kits of strangely named wild warriors and leaders with nine lives but the time of the clans is upon us once more and the stars shine yet again.
She's a liar, a calm to the fire
Shamed when we all follow suit
Shamed when we all follow suit
.
Why?
Why did the flames have to take away their home? Why did it have to take Alder and Chicken and Hoot? Why did it have to take her leg? Why hadn't Mama come to visit since it happened?
Sometimes Meadow still expected to wake up back in the loft, warm hay beneath her and her Mama's slumbering form somewhere nearby, grumbling in her sleep. But the pain was real. The missing weight of her leg, the dull ache that radiated through her body—was too real to be a dream.
Nutmeg visited often, but it didn't change how quiet everything had become. She remembered how full of life the barn had been, laughter and chatter—she even missed the arguments and the clucking of chickens. The den was silent more often than not, and though she tried to sleep or keep her mind busy, it never lasted long. An empty longing crept in between breaths, slipping into her thoughts and dreams.
Mama hadn't come to see her. Not once. Not even to scold her for running off and getting herself hurt. She was so… confused… and scared. Meadow wanted to know why but at the same time she worried what that meant. Did Mama not love her anymore?
Their new… home… it didn't feel the same. They all had to adapt to new names, new roles and a new way of living. It felt like she was being left behind—like everyone else had taken a step forward while she was still trying to crawl. She exhaled shakily, trying to steady herself.
Her gaze drifted to the entrance of the den, light filtering through the edges of the leaves. She couldn't lie in this nest anymore.
With a grunt, Meadow dragged herself upright. Her movements were stiff, bandages tight against her skin, wounds crackling, and every shift sent flickers of discomfort through her body. She grimaced, bearing weight on her remaining legs. The swelling was down, but it still hurt to move.
The process was slow, but it gave her something to focus on. She clenches her jaw in deep focus. It shouldn't be so hard, should it?
She made it only a few paces before her body gave out. Chest heaving, she eased herself back down, weary green eyes sweeping the den. Glade's scent lingered—fresh herbs and dried ones. At least the smell was a comfort—sweet—bitter—comforting.
Her eyes caught on something hanging just above, the brightness cutting through the colorless fog in her head. "Marigold…" Vibrant orange with ruffled petals, swaying gently with the breeze that drifted in. There was somethin' hopeful about it. Just seeing it made her chest ache just a little less.
Speech, thoughts/emphasis
Why did the flames have to take away their home? Why did it have to take Alder and Chicken and Hoot? Why did it have to take her leg? Why hadn't Mama come to visit since it happened?
Sometimes Meadow still expected to wake up back in the loft, warm hay beneath her and her Mama's slumbering form somewhere nearby, grumbling in her sleep. But the pain was real. The missing weight of her leg, the dull ache that radiated through her body—was too real to be a dream.
Nutmeg visited often, but it didn't change how quiet everything had become. She remembered how full of life the barn had been, laughter and chatter—she even missed the arguments and the clucking of chickens. The den was silent more often than not, and though she tried to sleep or keep her mind busy, it never lasted long. An empty longing crept in between breaths, slipping into her thoughts and dreams.
Mama hadn't come to see her. Not once. Not even to scold her for running off and getting herself hurt. She was so… confused… and scared. Meadow wanted to know why but at the same time she worried what that meant. Did Mama not love her anymore?
Their new… home… it didn't feel the same. They all had to adapt to new names, new roles and a new way of living. It felt like she was being left behind—like everyone else had taken a step forward while she was still trying to crawl. She exhaled shakily, trying to steady herself.
Her gaze drifted to the entrance of the den, light filtering through the edges of the leaves. She couldn't lie in this nest anymore.
With a grunt, Meadow dragged herself upright. Her movements were stiff, bandages tight against her skin, wounds crackling, and every shift sent flickers of discomfort through her body. She grimaced, bearing weight on her remaining legs. The swelling was down, but it still hurt to move.
The process was slow, but it gave her something to focus on. She clenches her jaw in deep focus. It shouldn't be so hard, should it?
She made it only a few paces before her body gave out. Chest heaving, she eased herself back down, weary green eyes sweeping the den. Glade's scent lingered—fresh herbs and dried ones. At least the smell was a comfort—sweet—bitter—comforting.
Her eyes caught on something hanging just above, the brightness cutting through the colorless fog in her head. "Marigold…" Vibrant orange with ruffled petals, swaying gently with the breeze that drifted in. There was somethin' hopeful about it. Just seeing it made her chest ache just a little less.
Speech, thoughts/emphasis
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