Chapter Text
Honnleath is overrun with darkspawn.
A little girl watches from a crack in the door as her neighbor is torn in half by genlocks. She’s holding her breath and hoping she won’t be next, and maybe she won’t because the butcher’s turned her cleaver to fight the hoard.
But when an ogre crests the hill, fire flies from her hands, and she can’t stop screaming.
Flames are licking up the walls of the only home she’s ever known, turning all to ash, and she knows she has to run, but it’s chaos outside. Darkspawn swarm in every direction, the sheep have escaped from their pen.
It takes her a minute to realize they’re not the ones bleating in terror. No. It’s the shepherd boy who taught her to swim, it’s the butcher, it’s her Nana, it’s the family next door. Maker have mercy, it’s the whole village.
So Amalia thinks of the scariest place she’s ever known, her grandfather’s basement where father warned her she must never go. Because maybe, just maybe, even the darkspawn will be too scared to follow.
When an arrow whizzes through the air to draw the genlock’s attention from her door, Amalia flies out. She’s racing up the hill and trying not to flinch at the sounds behind her. Her feet are pounding against the cobblestones slick with blood, and she’s trying not to slip.
She doesn’t stop in the parlor, she doesn’t stop in the library, she doesn’t stop until she’s thundering down the stairs to the lowest level, the farthest corner, the darkest shadow, because maybe, just maybe, they won’t find her like they found the shepherd boy.
Amalia presses one hand over her mouth, then another, trying to choke back the sounds that might give her away. She can’t stop shaking, and she can’t stop crying, and she can’t stop seeing everything she saw.
There’s no where left to hide, because her house is burning down. The whole village is burning down, and it’s all her fault.
Father must never know.
And then there’s something warm and soft brushing against her leg, a wet little nose bumping up under her chin, and the only thing she can hear is the rumbling purr of a cat.
“Oh, Kitty,” she sobs, and no demon has ever been more glad of a name.
Amalia clutches Kitty to her chest, and simply sobs. She’s delirious, hiccuping with terror as she babbles out every horror she’s seen, every fear, every childhood comfort she thinks she’ll never know: the arbor blessing that blooms outside the bay window, the sound of Momma in the kitchen, and her favorite porcelain doll.
Wilhelm never mentioned such things to Kitty. What is a cookie?
Kitty nuzzles Amalia’s cheek and licks away the tears until she can’t help but laugh, a sound it never heard before but wants to hear again and again. After thirty years of despair, Kitty is no longer alone.
It curls up in her lap when she falls asleep, enchanted by the slow rise and fall of her chest, the steady beat of her little heart, the bright, clean pool of her mana that makes it want to drink, and drink.
It never knew humans could be so small, so vulnerable, so innocent; Wilhelm was large and powerful and cruel.
Wherever Amalia goes, Kitty will follow. Whoever Mother is, Kitty will find her. Whenever darkspawn come, Kitty will stop them. Whatever happens, Father must never know.
Hours later, Amalia wakes with a start.
“Don’t be scared,” says Kitty. “I will keep you safe.”
Amalia’s eyes go round with wonder. “You can talk!”
“Of course I can talk, I am your grandfather’s magical cat.”
“Oh! I love you, Kitty!”
Kitty is dizzy with joy, precious and beloved to a human girl. The realization brims with promise— if it keeps Amalia safe it need never be alone.
Never.
Never.
Never.