Hello~ It's me again. I haven't written in way too long, but anyways...
I'm not really sure how much I like this. It's different from the style I'm used to writing, and, among other things, the middle is extremely rushed.
Oh, and incase you didn't read the summary for some odd reason, there is suicide in this fic. So if you don't like stuff like that, then I wouldn't advise reading this.
Concrit is greatly appreciated, and if you want to flame me, go right ahead. ;)
Feign
Love has a way of destroying things.
Take myself, for example.
Love has torn me apart, ripped me limb from limb, and left the pieces stranded, spread across the vast expanse of this place that I call "home".
Not literally, of course. Although, I'm sure that it would hurt less then the mental anguish I feel right now.
Anything, any sort of physical torture couldn't even come close to matching the agony that these conflicting emotions inflict on my suffering mind every waking moment.
Because, unlike physical pain, there is nothing you can do to make emotional pain go away, except give it time.
And every so often, even time can't ease the suffering of the soul.
That could possibly be my worst fear. What if time can't cure me? What worse fate is there than to have to spend the rest of eternity with a broken heart?
Why, why did this happen to me. I mean, I'm not extremely pretty, I'm not the best hunter, and I'm about mediocre when it comes to fighting. In summation, I'm pretty much your average Clan cat.
But I'd like to believe that I'm a nice cat, and that I've got a good heart. So why, out of all the average, everyday, ordinary she-cats in this forsaken place, was I the one who had to get her heart shredded?
Am I cursed? Did one of my ancestors do something to piss off some high-ranking StarClan cat?
And then I blink.
With that slight movement, just the tiny twitch of my eyelid, it all comes flooding back to me in a waterfall of memories.
"Nightkit! Nightkit, come play with us!"
The black she-kit lifted her head slightly to see Weaselkit standing above her, a ball of moss balanced on his snout.
She sat there for a second, watching as the moss ball rolled, teetering on the edge of Weaselkit's snout. The ginger tom grinned slightly, and twisted his head in a feeble attempt to switch the moss ball back to the center of his nose. But he tilted his head to far, and the moss ball skidded across his nose and fell of the edge, drifting through the air for an undetermined amount of time, steadily sinking lower, until it hit the floor, eventually rolling to a stop as it lightly hit the nursery wall.
Weaselkit stared at the moss for a second, then turned back to Nightkit, his face bright, "So? You wanna play?"
The tiny she-kit stood up, then, after a moment of silence, mewed, "Alright, I suppose so."
She stood and shook her black pelt, clearing it of the dirt and debris that had settled on it during her nap. Weaselkit ran over to the moss ball and picked it up in his teeth, promptly trotting out of the nursery, Nightkit on his heels.
The two made an odd sight. Weaselkit was the more energetic of the two, always bouncing around and filled with energy, while Nightkit was calmer, and more reasonable. Not to mention that they looked nothing alike. An outsider glancing upon them would see two kits, one red, one black, one filled with energy, the other shaking her head with an expression that said, I have got to get this cat to calm down a bit.
Undoubtedly, the two stuck out.
As they neared the center of camp, Nightkit spotted Crowkit and Owlkit sitting a few fox-lengths away.
Cocking her head to one side, Nightkit motioned to the other two cats with her tail, "Are they playing with us too?" she asked, her voice curious.
Through a mouthful of moss, the ginger tom mewed a quick high-pitched, "Yep!" before trotting over to the two cats and dropping the moss ball.
Nightkit reached the other cats only shortly after Weaselkit, only to hear Crowkit meowing distastefully, "A moss ball? Really, Weaselkit, playing with a moss ball isn't going to help us when we become apprentices, why don't we play-fight instead?"
Weaselkit just grinned again and kicked the moss ball to the side, "Alright, is that fine with you, Nightkit...?"
I stare up at the sky. Somehow, during the flood of memories, I'd fallen, and rolled onto my back.
I don't make even the slightest effort to move; I just lay there, gasping for breath as the memory fades. The colors dull first, the sounds follow suit until all I see are black and white figures, moving around without a definite purpose. Eventually, even they fade, replacing the past with the present.
But how much sweeter the past is.
How innocent we all were, oblivious to life's true problems.
That was the first day, I think, biting my lip to keep from crying out, the first day I met him.
After that day, well, there's nothing else to say but we grew up. I was made an apprentice shortly after that day, and a few, long moons later, Crowfeather was also elevated to apprentice status.
I'd never have admitted it in my earlier days, since most of the other she-cats my age still thought that toms had "cooties", but when we were both of apprentice age, I grew quite fond of Crowfeather. I'd tag around with him --somehow, always a few steps behind-- dealing with his sarcastic remarks and bitter attitude for reasons that even now, I'm unsure of.
In due time, he warmed up to me, and I believe that even he considered us friends. We'd go hunting together occasionally, and whenever he opened up and stepped out of his shell, he was actually a rather pleasant companion.
After he disappeared to go on the journey with those chosen cats…well, it all went downhill from there.
At first, I was heartbroken. No, I take it back. That feeling wasn't strong enough to be classified as heartbroken. I was distraught.
But after a short time, I got over it. I was young, and I didn't know the true meaning or depth of love, so it didn't really hurt all that badly when he left.
When he returned, I bounced back to adoring him just as easily as I had gotten over him.
However, upon his arrival, I could instantly tell he had changed. Just by the look in his eyes, I knew that the cat I was staring at was different than the apprentice I'd crushed on before. Granted, he was still sarcastic and just a tad bitter, but there was a sort of depression about him that I couldn't quite comprehend.
I tried to stay out of his way during the journey. You know, to give him time to cool off.
Well that didn't work.
When we reached our new home, I found out about her.
Feathertail.
She'd taken him away from me. She'd taken away my Crowy, and turned him into just another heartbroken tom. But I knew that the cat Crowfeather used to be, the spunky apprentice, was still somewhere deep down inside of him. I made it my top priority to make him forget his despair; to make him smile, to make him realize that it was going to be okay and that I was there for him.
But no matter what I did, no matter what tactics I used to try and get into his heart, he pushed me away.
And I tried. Oh, did I try. I tried every trick in the book, but to no avail.
He'd surrounded himself with a wall. A thick, rock-solid wall that no one in the Clan seemed to be able to penetrate. He rarely talked, just sulked around the camp all day feeling sorry for himself.
And then came, Leafpool.
I knew that something was different almost immediately. Crowfeather stopped sulking, he got a bounce back in his step…
But the wall remained, only to be broken by his one true love.
That no-good, dirty-rotten whore…
Why'd he have to love her? Couldn't he see? She didn't love him. She never did.
When Leafpool met Crowfeather, she realized the full power of the emotion called lust.
Notice how I said lust and not love.
Because Leafpool never loved Crowfeather. She lusted for him, and he lusted for her. There was no love involved.
But I…when I look at Crowfeather, I feel love, not lust, love.
And why can't he see that?
Why can't he see that his actions are killing me, slowly chipping away at me from the inside, and that at this pace, I'll soon be nothing but a hollow shell of a cat, a paper cutout without a living soul.
"Nightcloud," a soft voice breaks through my thoughts, snapping me out of my daze, "Do I need to repeat my question?"
The black she-cat continued to stare at the floor, and indescribable emotion rising up inside of her, filling her up from the very bottom of her stomach to the tip of every hair.
"No, that's not necessary. I'll-I'll be your mate, Crowfeather."
But even as she said it, she felt a pang shoot through her heart.
Was it regret? No. Perhaps it was reluctance. No, that didn't fit either.
Fear was the only possibility.
He'd broken her heart once already, what was stopping him from doing it again?
She already knew how this would end, and it wouldn't be pretty.
So why? Why was she agreeing to something she knew would turn out to be a disaster?
"Because love is a strange and cruel emotion," I whisper out loud as I snap back to the present.
He'd used me. He'd used me to get back in the Clan's good graces after the whole Leafpool incident. But I still loved him. Why?
Why?
That was the day, that fateful day that I agreed to become Crowfeather's mate, that my fate was sealed. My path through this life locked, becoming as still as stone, only to be changed by a miracle.
I've long stopped believing in miracles.
Ever since then, that horrible, horrible day that I agreed to be the devil's advocate, I've been walking along this dark path with no end.
No end.
The words haunt me, tainting what shred of a soul I still have left, whispering dangerous and delightful plans into my head.
But is there really no end?
As I mentioned earlier, even time can't cure emotional pain occasionally.
Even when I die, and visit StarClan, one day, Crowfeather will join me, and I'll have to coexist with him for the rest of eternity.
Unless…
Unless I don't walk the forests of StarClan when I die.
A crazy idea pops into my head.
Just like that. The craziest, most insane, deranged idea pops into my head.
Oh, but what a wonderful, spectacular, deranged idea.
Suicide is a sin.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I stand up, biting into the soft flesh near the base of my paws, ripping away the skin and fur, almost wincing as the taste of blood fills my mouth.
Be brave, Nightcloud, I think, be brave…
I dig my fangs deeper. With each new cut, I feel a wave of pleasure.
I wouldn't have to stare at that oh-too-perfect face for the rest of eternity.
Another cut.
Nor would I ever have to see Leafpool again.
Another cut.
As I thought about it, I realized that I wouldn't even have to see Feathertail, his first mate, ever again, nor even think of her.
Another cut.
By now, blood is pooling up around my forepaws. Some of it slinks into the ground as the previously dry dirt absorbs it, but there's too much for the earth to take it all away.
My head begins to spin, and everything around me warps, shapes and colors spiraling, blurring, and sharpening in a seemingly random order, until my surroundings become almost dreamlike, in a twisted sort of way.
I sink to my knees as the pain overpowers me, and for a moment, that's all that there is pain and scraps of my dim consciousness.
As I lay my head on the very floor that is stained with my own blood, I wait.
Death will come soon, of that I know. And I shall embrace it wholeheartedly and openly, accepting my position in the Place of No Stars with the utmost pride and dignity.
It's my only choice.
I've always imagined myself dying in battle, as I fought to protect my Clan from some unknown evil, but now that I think about it, it seems like a completely ridiculous notion. Before, I was more likely to die of old age than anything else.
Never, even in my wildest nightmares, had I imagined taking my own life.
I would never have imagined Crowfeather using me either.
A lone tear drips out of the corner of my eye. It's the only thing I have the strength left for.
I can no longer smell anything.
My back legs twitch, as if trying to break the death hold I have inflicted upon them.
I can no longer hear.
My chest no longer rises and falls with each breath, since I am no longer taking in and expelling air.
I can no longer see.
My heart is barely beating now, just a dull thud that is rather insignificant in the whole scheme of things.
Suddenly, a stray thought runs through my dying mind.
The Clan might not trust Crowfeather if they find me dead.
Instinctively, I rebel.
No!
My silent cry rings throughout my body, every nerve tingling.
But it's too late. Death is upon me, reaching out with a long, clawed hand.
Right now, it's ripping out my crushed heart and laughing.
I'm so sorry, sweetie.