Chapter Ten: Reality

Numb.

Somehow, that's what he had become.

Xaphile could feel Ella's piercing stare on his back as he followed the small brunette down the medieval cobblestone street.

It was like being burned.

Everything remained completely silent until he walked around the corner: thirty seconds after that, a large amount of chaos broke out behind them, but as they walked, the cacophony began to fade away, and he was actually very grateful for it.

His whole body still ached from the previous beatings he'd received, not counting the new one, so the last thing he really wanted was to be around the same people who'd done it while they were freaking out. It wasn't until they rounded another corner that the brunette unexpectedly whirled.

When he paused, her crystal blue eyes sparkled at him from behind her glasses.

"Isn't it great, Phil?!" she squeaked, smiling up at him with relief written across her features. "You don't have to die anymore! You're free! And now, because everyone knows that you're really a fairy, nobody would dare to lay a finger on you! You're safe from harm!"

He slowly lowered his eyes and merely looked at her.

In truth, he wasn't happy... not at all.

If anything, he actually felt more desolate than when he'd initially taken his own life.

But this strange girl was looking at him with earnest eyes, and she was also one of the only three people in wherever the hell this was to show him any genuine kindness.

So, instead of being grim, he masked his emotions and nodded in an almost robotic manner.

"That's great," he said simply. "I'm glad."

She bit her lip, looking a little dismayed.

"I'm sorry..." she sighed, lowering her eyes with a guilty expression. "I haven't even introduced myself to you, and here I am trying to make light of everything you went through."

"It isn't a big deal," he muttered. "Really."

A gentle smile touched her eyes.

"Let's get formally acquainted, shall we?" she trilled, bowing her head. "My name is Amelia Von Dolan. I'm an herbalist and part-time healer... although, my magic isn't very strong."

Xaphile actually blinked, then tilted his head, brows furrowing a little.

"Magic?" he asked, not believing his ears. "What do you mean by magic?"

"Oh, it's only basic stuff like healing flesh wounds and cleansing infection," she sighed, flapping a dismissive hand. "Really, my ability isn't anything special. Let's get you settled in, shall we?"

He bit his tongue and let out a huff. She obviously hadn't gotten the point of his question, but he decided not to push it since things definitely weren't normal in wherever he was. Flicking one of her braids over her shoulder, she walked up to a nearby door and unlocked it using a key she pulled out of her apron pocket.

Xaphile followed her inside the building, feeling dazed.

The interior was small, and also like something straight out of a movie from the middle ages. He looked around with raised eyebrows, taking note of the strange furniture and primitive oven. The strangest part was the row of bookshelves along the wall, since there was a reflective sheen radiating off of each tome.

It was like a small, glowing library.

He swallowed when she led him down a narrow hallway towards the back of the house. After she opened the door and stepped aside, he hesitantly peered around the corner, tail gently flicking back and forth.

The room was covered with dust, a testimony to its obvious disuse.

However, there was an actual bed resting in the corner, and even though it was extremely small, the close walls were kind of comforting. Xaphile always felt the most comfortable in enclosed places like this.

He was literally the opposite of claustrophobic.

"This is... the room you're letting me stay in?" he carefully inquired, finally looking down at her. "Are you sure it won't... cause problems?"

"Of course not," she told him kindly, giving a very bizarre and almost grandmotherly smile. "I'm a hard worker, and I earn much more coin than I spend on a regular basis thanks to my profession as an herbalist. Doing this is actually beneficial to me, in a way, since I now have a reason to use some of it."

His eyebrow twitched, and he sighed, feeling more than a little disturbed by her overly friendly behavior.

Two weeks of being so savagely abused had made him extremely wary of those around him.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" he bluntly asked, looking at her with a faint scowl. "I don't get it... you don't know me! Not even what kind of a person I am! And yet you unthinkingly invited me to LIVE with you! Isn't that a little reckless on your end?"

"Reckless?" she asked, looking very confused. "How so?"

His jaw dropped.

"Seriously?!" he scoffed, watching in disbelief as she gave a naive blink. "Look, lady! I was literally considered a monster by the people living in this freakish town only an hour ago! And why would you even offer to let a total stranger live with you?! It defies all common sense, and its dangerous!"

She lifted a hand and shyly fiddled with one of her braids.

"I have absolute faith that those who are kind to others will be repaid with the same treatment," she muttered, then folded her hands with a small sigh, "but fairies are considered sacred creatures... in fact, some of the woodland Fae used to hold more political sway than the kings of old. There's even a wizard's guild named after them, believe it or not."

"Fairies aren't real, and neither are wizards!" he snapped, making her look up in shock. "Trust me, I know enough about Irish mythology to tell you I'm not a freaking fairy, and since magic doesn't exist, hello?!"

The thought of being compared to a fairy made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

"Phil, you really are a Fae," she countered, tilting her head. "If I had not bumped into lady Ella herself after leaving you and told her the truth about you, she wouldn't have set you free."

He stiffened when the reality of her words actually sank in.

Heart growing bone cold, he looked her dead in the eyes, not wanting to believe what he'd just heard.

"What are you saying?" he lowly demanded. "Answer me."

"She asked me if the Fair Folk had magic that could affect the land," Amelia explained, tilting her chin out in a somewhat stubborn manner. "According to legend, there's only one kind that does."

"Stop stalling," he deadpanned, glaring at her without blinking. "Just answer my question!"

"I told Ella what you were," she retorted, "and because of it, she let you go."

He only had one real question.

"Why?" he rasped. "Why did you do that? Didn't you listen to what I said?"

"I did," she solemnly intoned, "but Phil, you need to understand... your kind are revered as creatures so powerful that the world we walk on bows to their every whim. To do anything less than what I did would have been... very bad for our village. Especially since the forests all around us are withering to dust."

Xaphile blinked, then folded his arms, muscles rippling in the dim light.

"I don't understand any of this," he firmly explained, looking at her with tense eyes. "Where am I? Where is this place?!"

"Chisago Village," Amelia told him. "It's south of Fiore's capital city."

"Which is... where?"

"Er, well, Crocus is very, very far to the north in a valley ringed by tall mountains," she told him. "I was once told that it's by far the largest city in our country since it has a vast amount of buildings that stretch on and on in a circular formation as far as the eye can see. I have not been myself, but I mean to visit someday."

He stared blankly.

Where the hell am I? he wondered. This isn't America, is it?

"Our village is still fairly small right now, but we're still known for our jewelry and weapons," she added as an afterthought, "and thanks to my shop, we also have a surprisingly great magic trade due to the fact that nearest major city, Magnolia, has a powerful wizard's guild! They occasionally buy supplies from me!"

Xaphile sighed in dismay and attempted to rub the bridge of his nose, but he accidentally scratched himself with his long nail in the process.

Ow, he silently complained.

"Fair enough," he muttered aloud, rubbing the stinging scratch beside his eye with a wince. "I don't know what to think after today, anyway... I'm kind of in shock, to tell the truth. I think I'm gonna head back to my room and go to sleep... I need time to get over all this."

"I'll go draw a bath first," Amelia murmured, giving him a little bow. "No offense intended, Phil, but right now... I'm afraid you have an rather... unpleasant odor."

The moment she said it, a violent shiver ran up his body, making him feel as though he would break out into hives.

"I really... really... did not need to hear that!" he squeaked, feeling as though little bugs were crawling all over him. "I'm a nutcase when it comes to hygiene!"

"'Tis not your fault," she sighed, patting his arm. "Two weeks without a good wash would be terrible for anyone. I'll return once the water is ready... also, those wounds on your back... I'm worried that they might be getting infected, so they'll need to be cleansed thoroughly."

Xaphile's expression went blank and he averted his eyes again, tangled black hair hiding his filthy face.

In truth, he had so much dirt and dried blood caked all over his upper torso that he was barely recognizable.

His whole body was filthy... it took everything in his power to avoid trying to dust himself off.

"Thank you," he murmured, not looking at Amelia. "I may not fully understand what's going on, but I am grateful for your kindness."

"You're welcome," she chirped, beaming at him with a bright grin. "I'll return soon."

Then she bowed again and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Xaphile leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, wondering for the millionth time how things had become so fucked up. Wherever the hell he was, it was obviously nowhere near Chicago.

Hell, for all he knew, he might have been dreaming everything.

Or perhaps this was the afterlife?

Up until this point, he'd been able to hold back his confusion and questions since everyone had been abusing him. There hadn't been time to really think about anything. He tried to stay calm and collected about the situation, but truthfully... now that things began to click with him, he was utterly terrified.

He was going nuts... that had to have been it.

When he'd shot himself in the head, he must not have died: he was probably lying in some remote hospital bed as a new human vegetable. Wherever this was, he obviously didn't belong here.

"It's just... too much to take in all at once," he muttered. "I feel like I've been tossed into a weird dream where nobody will tell me what's going on."

Pressing a hand to his forehead, Xaphile wondered how he'd gotten himself into this mess. On top of having no clue where he was, every single person either seemed to be batshit crazy or abnormally violent. Not even mentioning the bizarre changes in his body.

Lifting a hand, he examined his sharp nails and touched the scratch on his nose again, hesitantly checking for blood. However, his hands were too dirty to tell: every part of him felt disgusting.

Slowly falling over on his side, he stared at the wooden wall with blank eyes, feeling as though he had become a writhing ball of anxiety. For what felt like hours, he merely stared off into space... letting the seconds tick by one at a time. The silence was strangely peaceful.

It had an almost comforting lull to it.

His eyes began to grow heavy, and the rhythmic thrum of his heart began to fill his ears, sounding strong but strangely slow. His dazed sense of comfort was stirred by the sound of a knock on the door, followed shortly by Amelia's voice.

"Phil?" she called, carefully poking her head inside the room. "The bath is ready..."

"Coming," he grunted, laboriously getting to his feet and slinking past the girl, who eyed the haystack he called hair with something close to distaste. When he was led down another hall and into another room, he found himself staring at a huge marble tub connected to some kind of heated aqueduct.

It was full of hot water, and it looked so inviting that he actually relaxed a little.

"There's soap on the shelf over there," she explained, pointing at the far side of the wall; he blinked when he realized the bathroom had no sink or toilet. "I've left a drying cloth on the floor beside the door. When you're finished, wrap it around your waist. I'm afraid those trousers you're wearing have been so damaged by your ordeal that you won't be able to wear them again."

Xaphile winced, feeling a little guilty.

"Really?" he asked, giving her a sullen look. "That's not exactly comforting, since these pants don't even belong to me."

"Eh?" she asked, looking genuinely startled. "Who do they belong to?"

"A man named Octavius Macintosh," he explained, shaking his head. "He's the one who brought me here."

Her worried face instantly relaxed.

"Oh... well, don't worry, then," she soothed, waving an amused hand. "Old Gus is a sweetheart, so I'm sure he won't be bothered. Knowing him, he'll probably just be glad that you're still alive. I have a very big suspicion that he's actually grown a little attached to you."

"It's not so much attachment as it is a guilty conscience," Xaphile sourly muttered. "Anyway, I'd like to get in the bath now."

"Oh, by all means," she stated, waving a hand and giving him an airy smile. "The water is warm and ready!"

For a long moment, he stared at her and waited for her to leave.

Eventually he quirked an eyebrow since she merely continued standing in place, hands primly clasped in front of her.

"Unless things here are totally uncivilized," he finally drawled, folding his arms, "shouldn't it be obvious that I can't yet?"

"You can't?" Amelia asked, looking at him with an expression of innocent naivety. "Why not?"

Xaphile gawked at her, then abruptly gestured down at himself with an incredulous expression.

"Um, hello?!" he squeaked, patting the tattered trousers with a bright red face. "I'm a boy, and you're a girl! I'm not stripping in front of you!"

Amelia blinked rapidly behind her glasses as she processed what he was getting at.

Then she stiffened and also turned bright red, looking flustered.

Letting out an embarrassed squeal, she flailed her arms and abruptly covered her eyes with both hands.

"Deepest apologies!" she cried, whirling around and attempting to run out of the room; he jumped when she ran into the wall instead, but not long after, she felt her way to the door. "I am sorry! I am not used to being around boys... I am so very sorry."

When she slammed the door, the sound was obnoxiously loud.

That girl is something else, he silently muttered, letting out a deep sigh before looking down at himself. Then again... right now, I have no room to talk.

Once he was sure she wouldn't come back in, he unfastened the front of the trousers and carefully peeled them away from his skin.

He nearly forgot about his new tail being strung through the hole Gus had ripped into the back of them, but at the last second he felt a kink and carefully took the time to tug the damn thing free.

Dropping his drawers like a wild child, he hastily ran over to the shelf with the bar of soap and practically lunged into the extravagant bathtub with it. Shaking violently, he started scrubbing himself madly, feeling thoroughly disgusted when the water around him clouded up with reddish brown dirt. Once his entire body was clean, he dunked his head under the water and lathered the soap into his hair, keeping his eyes closed.

The horns sticking out of his skull made the process feel weird to him, but he ignored the extreme discomfort that settled into his belly.

Maybe I really am a demon now, he silently muttered, shuddering before his hands slowed with the washing. His fingers moved to his new horns, and he tentatively touched them, feeling them with his eyes squeezed shut. This is unbelievable...

They felt thick near the base of his skull, progressively growing pointier near the tips, and from what he could feel they were curved like a bull's horns. They blended in with his skin near his scalp.

With yet another shudder, he began rinsing his hair out.

And as he did so, he once again felt the strangeness of his ears and paused.

Soft fur met his fingertips, once again bewildering him with the oddness of it all.

Leaning back and staring at the ceiling, he tried to process it all.

"So... I've sprouted fur on my back, my pubes have gone crazy on me, and I now have chest hair, a tail, fangs, horns, claws, and what feel to me like furry elf ears," he muttered, rubbing his face with a large hand and letting out a sigh. "This is seriously messed up. What the fuck went wrong with my body?"

He didn't know the answer to that question, but he had a feeling it had happened only because he'd killed himself. That alone was the only reason why he couldn't and wouldn't complain.

These changes were likely a result of what he'd done to himself.

Feeling disgruntled, he dunked his head under water and let himself soak, feeling as though he'd scrubbed himself raw. He'd even gone as far as washing his tail and most of the strange black fur that now stretched down his spine. But eventually, he stood up and shook himself free of the water.

Dripping, he walked over to the cloth lying on the ground and used it to rub himself dry, feeling relief flooding through him at the sensation of being clean again. After toweling off, he wrapped the cloth around his waist and slicked his hair back to keep it out of his eyes. Then he walked over to the door and opened it, peering out into the hall. Amelia was waiting not too far away, holding some sort of strange-looking white rope.

"What's that?" he suspiciously asked, making her jump. "You're not... planning on tying me up, are you?"

"No, no, not at all!" she squealed, flailing her arms again. "It's a measuring rope! I need it to take measurements of your body!"

He instantly narrowed his eyes, not understanding why she would want to do such a thing.

"Why?" he demanded, feeling abnormally wary. "What do you need measurements for?"

"Clothes," she told him, blinking. "Since you don't have any of your own, I'm going to have some made for you. To do that, I need your measurements."

He furrowed his brows, realizing that if he truly was in a primitive place, getting clothes definitely wouldn't be as easy as going to a store with specific sizes.

"Fine," he muttered, hesitantly stepping out into the hall and firmly holding the cloth around his waist. "Just... be careful."

He watched as she stepped forward, holding the rope out with a nervous expression.

She was obviously feeling just as awkward as he was.

With almost hesitant motions, Amelia wrapped it around his waist just above the edge of the drying cloth, then looked closely at the side. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensations, but once she finished measuring his waist, she moved onto his chest, and then his arms.

After a moment, she poked him with a small finger.

"Could you possibly kneel down so I can measure your shoulders and neck?" Amelia hesitantly asked, looking up at him with a timid expression. "Please?"

Xaphile wordlessly did as he was asked, carefully sliding down to his knees. He tried not to flinch when she moved behind him and set the rope across his shoulders, warm hands moving his long, damp hair to the side as she did so. She paused when she saw the scabs from being lashed, and for a moment she didn't move... but then, her fingers lightly combed through the strange furry mane running down his spine. He immediately stiffened since a flash of pain seared through the skin beneath it.

"Ow," he deadpanned, keeping his face blank by habit. "That hurts."

She squeaked, jerking her hand back.

"M-my apologies," Amelia stammered, lifting the rope and using it to measure his throat. "I-I couldn't help myself... I've never seen anyone quite like you before, and I gave into temptation. The hair on your back... it's almost like that of an animal's, and it's very peculiar."

"Not as peculiar as my tail," Xaphile muttered; as if to enunciate that statement, the freakish appendage thumped against the floor and started sweeping against her ankles, making her twitch. "Trust me... the hair and everything else I can handle, but the tail... I don't like it."

"I think it's rather amusing," she admitted, looking down at the lion-like thing with wide eyes. "You're like a big cat... it's strange, but interesting."

"Until you realize it's actually a part of you," he droned, feeling a little bemused himself. "Then it's not so interesting. Just very, very strange."

She giggled, smiling in genuine relief as the tension between them diffused a bit.

With gentle hands, she removed the rope, but her cheerful expression faded when she looked at his back again. All across it were horrible-looking scabs and scarred flesh, a testimony to Ella's brutality.

"I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us," Amelia sadly murmured, touching a specific spot beneath his right shoulder blade and gently brushing other spots along his back. "These wounds are terrible... I would try healing them, but Ella's demon-slayer magic would prevent me from trying."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, not really caring either way.

"It means," Amelia whispered, letting out a sigh, "that her weapons are specifically designed to prevent creatures from being able to heal themselves, be it by natural ability or and outside magical influence. But at this point, the damage has already been done. These lash wounds are going to leave scars everywhere..."

"It doesn't matter," he muttered, feeling absolutely nothing. "I don't care if they scar up."

"Do you want me to try healing them?" she asked, biting her lip. "Even if I do, and it somehow works, I won't be able to prevent these wounds from scarring up... but, in the end, you'll hurt just a little bit less."

He didn't look at her.

"Let nature take it's course," he finally muttered. "Don't worry yourself over me."

She winced slightly at his tone, then reluctantly nodded.

"If that is what you wish," Amelia sighed, patting his arm. "Now, I want you to measure your upper legs and both of your feet for me. I understand that this might be uncomfortable, so I'll turn around while you do so... but unless you want breeches and shoes that don't exactly fit you, this is necessary."

"How?" he asked, finally getting to his feet and cracking his back with a wince. "I'm not exactly sure how to use this measuring thing."

"Oh, it's quite simple!" she explained, holding the rope up and tapping several small symbols that had been embroidered into it. "Wrap this rope around each leg: then, when the edge connects with a particular symbol, tell me what it is and we'll have your measurements."

Then she handed him the rope and pointedly turned around, covering both of her eyes.

"Okay, let's do this," he muttered, lifting the towel and doing as she asked; once he'd measured both of his upper thighs, he bent over and did the same with his feet. Once he had the symbols, he turned around and tapped her arm. "I'm finished, I think."

"Symbols?" she asked, looking at the rope when he pointed.

"This one was for my upper legs," he calmly told her, then shifted his finger, "and these two were for my feet, width and length."

Her eyebrows rose.

"I forgot to mention feet required two measurements, but it seems you realized it yourself," she murmured, lifting her eyes with a grin. "That's pretty impressive."

"What will I do until those clothes you mentioned are made?" he asked, tilting his head and looking down at himself. "I can't exactly... run around in the nude."

"I think I have some clothes that used to belong to my father stored away in a trunk somewhere," Amelia told him, tossing one of her braids over her shoulder before turning and hurrying off down the hall. "Wait there... I'll see what I can scrounge up."

After she ran off, Xaphile rubbed his face, feeling bizarrely tired.

However, much to his surprise, she wasn't gone for long at all... but when she came back, she was holding some very strange-looking clothes indeed.

Blinking rapidly, he watched as she wordlessly held out the azure trousers and...

"A dress?" he asked, giving her a disbelieving look. "Isn't that a girl's outfit?"

"No, silly!" she laughed, shaking her head. "These are robes! My papa was a famous wizard, so he always dressed really flashy like this! Try them on! I'm pretty sure the pants are a little too short for someone with such a tall stature, but they'll fit you width-wise at the very least. Oh, and I also made an adjustment to the rear for your tail... I'm sure Papa won't mind."

When he took the clothes, they felt soft like satin.

Blinking rapidly, he tilted his head and looked down at her, catlike eyes drilling into the little brunette's face.

"Thank you," he stated firmly, turning away and walking back into the bathroom. "I appreciate everything you've done for me."

This, at the very least, was true.

He didn't understand why she was doing all of this for him, but he was indeed grateful for it. Dropping the towel on the floor beside the tattered leather pants Gus had given him weeks ago, he shrugged the silken blue breeches on and shivered a little, since the sensation reminded him of dressing up in a suit.

Fastening the front of the trousers, he looked down at his legs and winced, since she hadn't been kidding: apparently, her father had been just as short as she was, since the pants ended just above his shin bones.

Well, at least they're soft, he silently muttered, unfolding the dusty 'robe' and carefully tugging it over his head, being mindful of his horns. Once it was on, he glanced down at himself. The 'robe' ended near his knees, but the sleeves were so long that they hung past his hands.

"Bizarre style," he muttered, dusting the sky blue clothes off with a frown, "but its better than being naked."

Fully dressed, he padded back out into the hall.

Amelia instantly covered her mouth, face turning bright red.

"W-well, now!" she eventually squeaked out, obviously fighting back a hysterical fit of laughter. "It's not a perfect fit, but you somehow managed to make it work rather well! It looks good on you!"

He regarded her with half-lidded eyes.

"Uh-huh," he sarcastically drawled, looking down at himself. "Yeah, sure it does."

"Oh, don't be so pessimistic," she choked, finally bursting into a fit of giggles. "Really, it does look good on you! Better than it did on my father, at the very least!"

"Is that supposed to be flattering?" he questioned, long ears involuntarily drooping. "Why did your dad wear clothes like this if it he knew they made him look weird?"

"My father is rather eccentric and a little strange," Amelia weakly admitted, then beamed proudly, "but everyone still respects him because he's both a sweetheart AND a powerful magic user from Fairy Tail! One of the best, in my opinion! He even worked for the king himself as a court wizard, long ago!"

"Well, where is he?" Xaphile asked, glancing around with a fleeting expression of curiosity. "You said you live alone, right?"

Her face immediately fell and she averted her eyes, looking a little downcast.

"He... he went missing on a job years ago," she stated quietly, shaking her head with a smile. "A lot of Fairy Tail members are still out looking for him, and I get regular visits from the guild master, so I'm never truly alone here. I really miss him, but I know he'll return someday. After all, Fairy Tail is famous for never giving up on their own!"

Xaphile's ears twitched involuntarily upon hearing that. He didn't know what was going on... but one thing was slowly becoming obvious. This place, wherever it was, had a very different sense of reality than where he'd been born and raised.

"May I... go to sleep now?" he asked, giving her a weary look. "I'm... tired."

Her eyes instantly softened and she stepped forward, setting a hand on his arm.

"Of course... after the horrible ordeals you've gone through, you deserve rest," she murmured, turning away and heading down the hall. "It's still rather early in the day for me, however, so I'm afraid I'll be busy making poultices and medicine until later this evening. If you need anything at all, I'll be in the kitchen. Sleep well."

He watched her go with a blank face... but the moment she was out of sight, his shoulders sagged and his eyes turned hollow again. Swiveling around, he stumbled down the hall towards the strange room he'd been given and walked inside it, quietly closing the door.

He turned and was about to flop down on the bed... but a crude-looking pink crystal that was literally hovering above the nightstand caught his attention since it was reflecting his image like a mirror.

He immediately froze when he noticed something odd, staring at himself in disbelief.

Slowly creeping forward, he peered into the freakish crystal more closely. Lifting his hands, he touched the horns on his head... but his reflection didn't have them.

What the hell? he wondered, frowning; moving his hair to the side, he looked at his ears in the mirror, and much to his surprise... they were normal. What is this?

Hit by an unexpected fit of worry, he lifted the robes he'd been given and exposed the thick black streak of fur rising up from out of his trousers to his chest, then looked at the mirror with a shiver. Smooth, pale muscles met his gaze in the reflection... it was how he'd looked before pulling the trigger.

There was no doubt that the reflection was his own... but once again, like everything else, what he was seeing with his own two eyes didn't make any sense whatsoever. Reflections were supposed to reflect things the way they were, not show a completely different version of something.

This was a very strange sensation, and it was thoroughly dislikable for him.

Exhausted by the fact that nothing made any sense, Xaphile sat down on the small bed and set his head on the pillow. The mattress had been stuffed full of some sort of straw, and the pillow was roughly made of the same coarse fabric with plenty of said straw. But it was softer than the metal floor of the cage he'd been stuck in, so he didn't care.

Closing his eyes, he slowly curled up.

The only sound that came after that was a single tear dripping onto the pillow.

All was silent.