Grizabella beamed as she beheld the faces of her Jellicle cats, all turned in awe toward her. Her name rose like a prayer above the rabble, and the fanfare must have been loud enough to wake the whole human city. She trusted Macavity was watching still, biding his time until he could take her home again.

She glided past hundreds of kittens whom she'd never seen before, all of whom knew her face and reputation regardless. She sailed through waves of admirers who were oh so young and impressionable in the height of her career. She stopped before the other Old Cats- her dear friends Gus, Skimbleshanks, Jennyanydots, and Bustopher-, curtsying before each of them if only to flash her beautiful new coat. They gawked as they cheered her on, astonished to see the old Glamour Cat in the flesh again.

Ascending the steps to the altar, she finally caught sight of Munkustrap, the upstart preacher whom she assumed would be delivering her sentence. Perhaps it was her excitement, vivifying the scenery of the evening, but did she not detect a smattering of blood upon the cleric's coat?

He and the younger cat beside him bowed as she passed, wordlessly blessing her ascent. Her chariot, a silver, conical rocket awaited her, and a train of beautiful female kittens threw breadcrumbs as she crossed the threshold into its steely frame. When the door was shut and the noise of the ceremony drowned out, she sobbed aloud to herself, so overcome with a flurry of confliction emotions as she was. She would return to London on in the morning a changed cat, and Macavity- who had witnessed the entirety of her transformation- would be waiting to open the doors again.

The ground rumbled beneath her as steam enveloped her view. The vessel rocked around her, the air tightening around her as she shot up above the buildings and streets. Each lamp seemed to flicker out of view in turn, as if beating a fatalistic warning to her tear-bleared vision. They disappeared and blackness surrounded her- but a black only so dark as the night at its darkest, a treasured night before a harsh morning.

Replacing those streetlamps were the stars, and the Moon so bright. Her temporary coffin took her past them all, and toward the splendor of the sun. Its shimmering gaze, its warmth erased all her past doubts, all the remaining imperfections of her body and soul were outshone by its brilliant white heat.

Now, a new day will begin, she thought, and she smiled at her reflection in the porthole.