In his dream, there's a pond. It always the same dream; the quiet forest, the sleepy glen, the pond. It is a perfect circle, a flawless mirror, and yet when he approaches he can never find his reflection. Just as well; his pelt is muddy, tangled, adorned with small additions of twigs and burrs. Strongclaw was once a proud cat, and groomed his fur until it gleamed. That ended the day he ended her, and after that all he could see was the blood, a perpetual red stain upon his paws. Washing it away isn't possible; it's his mind that's broken, not his eyes.
Tonight in the pond something waits for him. Strongclaw does not gasp when he looks down; it's something inside that fails, that crumbles just a little more. It's her, of course, but the creature in the mirror is not what he remembers: bitter, angry, glaring.
"Let me go," he whispers; the pond phantom throws back her head and laughs. It is a musical sound, derisive and pretty. He'd forgotten her scorn, her sarcasm. It's too much to hope that in time, he will forget the rest of her.
to the guest who wants to know where i get my prompts from, i picked them all myself and put them in an ordered list, 1-365. now i have to suffer through them. not sure how i'd get them to you unless you made an account or whatever.