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.
mistletoekit
sing so sweetly
{$title} contains descriptions of maggots in freshkill (not to be eaten)
★ Despite all that prevailed around her, Mistletoekit was focused on matters for more personal, and infinitely more important, than the remnants of living felines that haunt the marshlands. She had yet to have any of her own incidents with cold chills, faint apparitions, or yellowed bones, and was equally yet to form her own opinion on them. They hadn't bothered her personally, and that removed any urgency she might've had to categorise the latest events as bad. This she kept to herself. She had more tact than she did in younger moons, and while it still didn't amount to much, it was enough that she could advise herself against speaking in favour of horrors. In no small part because they didn't concern her.
Rather, what held her attention was her food - and what writhed within.
A few days prior, the kitten had reserved herself more food than she could sensibly eat and not cared enough to dispose of the remains. How the scraps of freshkill had been allowed to fester without removal was a mystery, though the examination of said mystery would not serve her, so Mistletoekit ignored it. The consequence was an objective mess: once red meat now brown where it was not white, limp where it was not seething with small bodies, dry where it was not a glistening mass of maggots. The byproduct was a deep sense of curiosity that hatched and crawled and devoured and could not be denied. She hummed, sound without thought, and reached a small paw toward the smaller bugs.
Rather, what held her attention was her food - and what writhed within.
A few days prior, the kitten had reserved herself more food than she could sensibly eat and not cared enough to dispose of the remains. How the scraps of freshkill had been allowed to fester without removal was a mystery, though the examination of said mystery would not serve her, so Mistletoekit ignored it. The consequence was an objective mess: once red meat now brown where it was not white, limp where it was not seething with small bodies, dry where it was not a glistening mass of maggots. The byproduct was a deep sense of curiosity that hatched and crawled and devoured and could not be denied. She hummed, sound without thought, and reached a small paw toward the smaller bugs.