Slow, is her descent into the dark. She starts out normal, but the laws of dead cats buried years ago twist her, somehow, dim her light. Ruin her. Maybe it's always been slated down, scratched on some crumbling stone, that she'd never stay sane for long. That her way down was an arduous path. That she'd enjoy it, waking up madder and madder each day. How much it would suit her. Perfect, on the outside, sleek and pretty; shadows and smoke inside, twining their laughter with hers. She starts off young, muzzle split with the predecessor of her favourite smirk, but by the time she drowns her senile leader in the river, she's gone.
all hail batmaaan