Cerulean Cape we have always known how to be monsters

Kitsch listened, her pale lips pressed into a wary line. 

“If you can’t predict it, then why bother?” the question, potentially offensive in its skeptical nature, was spoken honestly and with earnest. These concepts had always frustrated her, even when she was a cub and was being trained in the religion of her people. Daily lessons had beaten the interest and youthful desire to learn from her and she became quite lazy where areas of piety were concerned. It was no matter; she only needed to uphold a pious facade, and no layperson would ever be the wiser — but somehow Kitsch hadn’t been able to handle the small task and her tutors were always left wanting more.

Again — it was easier for the kitten to shut down that part of her soul than to face the shortcomings that lay there. It wasn’t exactly fair. How could Axolotl could he derive such happiness from life while she could not even grasp at it? Kitsch could never say that she didn’t always have melancholy tendencies, she surmised that she had experienced more melancholy-inducing experiences than anyone else she met and it wasn’t fair that life would do that to her! If there was a god after all, he was certainly quite cruel.