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.
{$title} cw for nightmares and the fire .. star denotes where actual interaction starts it can be anyone!
Lucille was trapped.
The fire itself was a noise, an instrument flowing along the cacophony of death cries. Her senses were vivid: the sight of tongues reaching to taste her fur, the stench of burning fur, burning flesh. She breathed out air and recieved smoke in return. A weak, but heavy beam had crashed onto her. Somehow, she was still alive. There was no way out.
Kindling was on all sides of her, her tail to a haybale, delicious for the flame. She was squashed, lungs crackling with imminent char. Nobody else was in sight, until she saw it – saw her.
At nearly eye level, two sets of tufted paws thunder near her, just barely safe. Lucille followed the paws up, the long hair ending abruptly in fawn stubble.
She was looking up at herself. Twin pairs of eyes met.
The sound that escaped her throat was retched, but she managed the words around the smoke intruding into her mouth: "Help me."
"Help me," she repeated, louder. Lucille looked down at herself, the interaction mere seconds, drawing into minutes. There was a way to reach her, shrug the beam off before its beginning flames caught her. Fury fluttered, hotter than the collapsing barn, and the trapped Lucille found the strength to plead, screeching, "HELP ME!"
Her sternum was alight even as she woke up, somehow feverish even with the cold sweat collecting under her fur.
â‘ The wide open camp caught her fall. She threw herself to her feet noisily, trampling the closest sleeper. It was the least of her concern. Maremane's nostrils fluttered with hungry intake, ribs caging her lungs as they tried to escape her.
Everything was muddled with delirium, a static in which only one sharp thing formed. It was like a mirror – something ugly and twisted, her prisoner who she had shackled herself to.
Guilt.
She tiptoed the rest of the way out of the collection of slumbering WindClanners, letting the mild air wash over her. This was not something she wanted to address. Not something she had the time to address. The fire had happened for a reason, and frankly, she was happier out here, her radius wider.
The dark form of whoever she had stepped on rose, and her mind pocketed it all, antsy as her pained face shuddered into frost. "You slept too close to me," she accused vacantly, not bothering to let them close enough to reveal their identity before she jabbed.
The fire itself was a noise, an instrument flowing along the cacophony of death cries. Her senses were vivid: the sight of tongues reaching to taste her fur, the stench of burning fur, burning flesh. She breathed out air and recieved smoke in return. A weak, but heavy beam had crashed onto her. Somehow, she was still alive. There was no way out.
Kindling was on all sides of her, her tail to a haybale, delicious for the flame. She was squashed, lungs crackling with imminent char. Nobody else was in sight, until she saw it – saw her.
At nearly eye level, two sets of tufted paws thunder near her, just barely safe. Lucille followed the paws up, the long hair ending abruptly in fawn stubble.
She was looking up at herself. Twin pairs of eyes met.
The sound that escaped her throat was retched, but she managed the words around the smoke intruding into her mouth: "Help me."
"Help me," she repeated, louder. Lucille looked down at herself, the interaction mere seconds, drawing into minutes. There was a way to reach her, shrug the beam off before its beginning flames caught her. Fury fluttered, hotter than the collapsing barn, and the trapped Lucille found the strength to plead, screeching, "HELP ME!"
Her sternum was alight even as she woke up, somehow feverish even with the cold sweat collecting under her fur.
â‘ The wide open camp caught her fall. She threw herself to her feet noisily, trampling the closest sleeper. It was the least of her concern. Maremane's nostrils fluttered with hungry intake, ribs caging her lungs as they tried to escape her.
Everything was muddled with delirium, a static in which only one sharp thing formed. It was like a mirror – something ugly and twisted, her prisoner who she had shackled herself to.
Guilt.
She tiptoed the rest of the way out of the collection of slumbering WindClanners, letting the mild air wash over her. This was not something she wanted to address. Not something she had the time to address. The fire had happened for a reason, and frankly, she was happier out here, her radius wider.
The dark form of whoever she had stepped on rose, and her mind pocketed it all, antsy as her pained face shuddered into frost. "You slept too close to me," she accused vacantly, not bothering to let them close enough to reveal their identity before she jabbed.
