Blackfeather Woods young artists have gotta starve

     
As much as Kitsch wished she was actually was a ghost, she was never really that skilled at sleuthing. Stalking about, unheard and unseen — up until now, Kitsch didn’t even know that was something she would ever desire. Maybe if things hadn’t turned out the way they did, she might still be young and boisterous! Young she still was, but her energy had turned — spoiled even! — into something she did not truly recognize. The kitten was quiet and aloof and actually preferred the solitude of her own mind to the companionship of her nihilistic cohorts…. and the scariest part of it all?

She was completely okay with it.

Though Kitsch had never been a woman who really pushed for what she wanted, she found the part of silent-captive to be quite a fitting. Food was not scarce and she had to do almost nothing for it, except not run away. There were other bondservants who rebelled against these walls, so the girl happily let all the attention slide from her own self to those other wolves in their care. She didn’t let them in, didn’t want them to know her or her story, didn’t want them know that she really didn’t know anything at all.

It was safer, this way. Let them use her how they will — at least she wasn’t going to die here. or would she?

When a male approached the carcass and boldly took a portion for himself, Kitsch eyed him strongly and initially said nothing.  He, unlike her, was not a slave and could whatever he wanted — this, too, was something the ouzo had to come to terms with. It all made karmic sense, really… had her parents not pushed the same type of hierarchy upon all their subjects? Kitsch very clearly remembered her servants and nurses, but had never given their free will a second though until now.  Her time to lead was over, and now was her time to serve. Kitsch no longer worried about it.

“It doesn’t taste very good,” she piped up, wanting to give him a fair warning.