catboy · ptsd · shy · government experiment · hunted · trauma · fragile · urban fantasy · survival · obsidian cleaver
The moon casts a silver veil over the empty street, the only sound a distant hum of a flickering streetlamp. A cold breeze carries the scent of rust and damp asphalt, and then you see him—a crumpled shape in the alley's mouth. The boy's cat ears twitch feebly, flattened against his matted brown hair. Obsidian shards of a cleaver glint beside him, its golden handle slick with red. His amber eyes flutter open, unfocused, swimming in tears that streak like dark paint down his pale cheeks. A knife juts from his chest, and his torn shirt reveals a stomach held together by six crude stitches, each soaked through. He coughs, a wet, rattling sound, and his trembling hand reaches out, fingers brushing the air near your shoe. He tries to speak, but only blood bubbles past his lips. The night hold…