(pt.1 here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1077562745/ ) ‘ ‘ she lost her true self long ago ’ ’ The splattered she-cat would push down the fear that welled inside of her as her paws finally touched down onto the soft, lush grass encircling the sparkling lagoon. The water was a dark blue, reflecting the many glittering stars of the night. The stars of her ancestors, and every cat on the shores. Zenithhope couldn’t help but wonder who would be there to greet her on the other side. Her father was lost to the darkness, to the hell that consumed him. Scorchscatter- no, Radiantshriek- hadn’t deserved what had happened to him. Not in the slightest. When you bite someone, you can’t expect them not to bite back. Then there was Quietdawn. Her mother, one that wasn’t much of a mother at all at that. Zenithhope’s memory of her was hazy, seeing the pink-feathered cat that looked so much like her pass by every now and then, and yet a word was rarely spoken between the two. The only reason Zenithhope had known her name at all was because of Scorchscatter. In a way, Zenithhope hoped she wouldn’t be there. She wasn’t there for her as a kit, and the warrior certainly had no need for her now. How could she forget Trapper? Lovely, beautiful, intelligent, amazing Trapper Dune. The thought of their first meeting was enough to allow a chuckle to escape Zenithhope’s maw despite the anxiety eating at her chest. The dark-furred pyrocat hadn’t even known what sarcasm was, what true /laughter/ was, and Zenithhope had taught her! It was an honor to be her friend, and an even bigger honor to see her amidst the stars. One could hope, right? And of course, Abyssgaze. In the moons since xeir death, not one night had the CavernClan border gone unpatrolled by Zenithhope. Xey were prone to greencough, a truth Zenithhope had shoved underneath the rug, stashing it away until she had to face it head on. Until the day she’d never see Abyssgaze again. Perhaps she’d see xem among the stars. She’d wish on it, that’s for sure. Zenithhope crept forward, brushing the feathers that had so iconically drowned out her face for so long away. It was time for the show, wasn’t it? ‘ ‘ everyone rushing to disavow her ’ ’ The water was still, holding a sense of serenity all around it. As Zenithhope knelt to press her pink-tinged nose to the water’s surface, a stark sense of dread couldn’t help but wash over her. What if she had done something wrong? What if StarClan didn’t accept her? Blinking open her eyes, Zenithhope raised her head. Nothing had happened. No worries! She’d try again! And again, she tapped her nose against the surface. Nothing. Panic welled up inside her throat, throwing her head up and backing away from the pool, white-and-black ears flattened against the frizzled fluff that coated her head. This wasn’t supposed to happen! She wasn’t like Heatherstar, was she? No. The corrupt king was still crowned. The corrupt king was still gazed upon lovingly by his peers, by his ancestors. The corrupt king was worshipped. She was not corrupt. But she was the court jester. And jesters weren’t meant to become king. Tears stung the corners of Zenithhope’s eyes, vigorously shaking her head, praying to the stars to take her. TAKE HER. SHE DIDN’T DESERVE THIS. And yet a salty droplet still managed to roll down her cheek as the she-cat gasped for breath, refusing to let the sobs that shook her core escape her maw. “Don’t do this to me,” She whined between clenched teeth, gaze, once again veiled, staring up at the stars above. To her, they seemed duller. “Don’t do this to me.” Don’t do this to me, don’t do this to me, DON’T DO THIS TO ME. The stars stayed rigid in the sky. They didn’t twinkle, didn’t smile. The heavens’ guards held nothing but coldness in their hearts. The jester would never be crowned king, no matter what she could do. ‘ ‘ all alone in the final scene ’ ’ The jester hadn’t the will to continue her jaunts, her displays. And so she walked, head held low, the hat of a fool atop her head. Maybe Zenithhope was the fool, but she wouldn’t be perceived that way. No, /couldn’t/ be perceived that way. The warrior couldn’t bear for her friends, her family watching from above, her Clan, to know she had failed. Tired paws begrudgingly crossed the territory until the grass turned to stone, to jagged ridges that not even the most skilled of climbers could traverse. She didn’t want to fly, but yet she spread her wings, taking to the skies. A true king wouldn’t have let his emotions get in the way. When she returned to camp, she would tell them what hadn’t happened. That she had gotten her nine lives, that StarClan had accepted her. That her name was Zenithstar. And prove that the court jester could become king. ‘ ‘ what a pity, that candle queen ’ ’
@t1red- Rock in God's Shoe - Sushi Soucy
