All roads lead to Rome, they say. That's wrong, all roads lead to the Cat Shelter. As long as you're in town, walk down the darkest road of the darkest alley, along the path with the most twists and turns, and you'll reach the nameless cat shelter.

It's a small place, with few cats that have been there for so long you might think they were born or breed there. They might be, but two were definitely strays. Both, of unknown species, were black furred, with hazel eyes.

The older one had silver-black swirls and stripes around his face, tail and feet, and constantly sat in the corner broodingly. The only time he ever went with the crowd was when food was laid out, and only beside a curvy blond cat. Despite that, he was always watching, his eyes like dark almond chocolate, his tail flicking around the way shadows wavered.

The younger one, possibly his brother, had tanned caramel spot along his necks, ears and the bottom of his legs. They looked like flames when he pranced around, most of the time rubbing against a female cat. His eyes, of the same shade, held the maturity of a cat that was not merely a love-sick one. But his personality did not help that, and only those who knew him well enough could understand him.

The third cat, though wholly unrelated to them in past, had the same black fur and the look of a leader, a lord of sorts. He had a deep indigo gradient tail and ears, not to mention his eyes. Dark, yet sparkling, like a cloudless night sky. Beautiful was an understatement for him, he was the most drop-dead gorgeous cat out of all of them.

There were two cats, both female, closer than sisters despite their differences. The first was bigger, curvy, and blonde. Her eyes too were brown, but the shade of chocolate smoothie. Her fur was tinged from dark tan to a beautiful gold, but the thing was her neck. It was the only part of her that was pale, like milk cream, and it was a straight line, all around her neck.

She was a domestic cat, and when she first came, had scars all over her body. But she was strong, lively, and pranced all over the room, making her dominance clear. The few times the cats were allowed to leave the shelter for a sprint, she was always the first.

There could be no cat more different. She was short, and her fur was a spiky black. There was nothing, no markings, no spots on her. Her eyes, like black smoke, radiated the otherness, that made people suspect that she was not a cat. Her claws had the eerie shade of bright silver. But no one knew what she was.

There was a big cat. He was the first and loved to show that he knew it. He was blonde, like the blinding light of the sun, glowing even in the dark. His fur was smooth and soft, seemingly perfect. Except for his face. There were scars, dark wounds, especially across his eyes. There was something about him too, but it was easy to dismiss it when seeing his persona of a being a dick. Everyone hated him, and it was easy to be part of the everyone.

The big cat's eternal sidekick was significantly smaller compared to him. It was not in size, but rather in the aura, in presence. Despite his bright orange fur and equally fiery eye, the pale patches of fur and hunched shoulders dwarfed him. His other eye was a brilliant shade of gold but sadly scarred from his forehead to his jaw and his whiskers on that significantly shorter.

The last two twins were the best, the most problematic. The older one was the cat the younger stray sucked up to. Her ears were sharp, like a Siamese cat, and her blue-gray eyes like cunning daggers piercing your soul. Her fur was a pale silky cream, but the thing was her meows. Her meows were the worse - high-pitched and screeching. What made it worse was that she made the most noise, whenever the stray decided to even come near her. Which was all the time.

But underneath it was a surprisingly sisterly heart. She could be strutting around with her head high one second, and hissing at the orange cat the next for meowing in her sister's direction. Her sister…they were as different as the big cat and the orange cat, but only personality wise.

Although she did not have hunched shoulders or prominent scars, she was soft-spoken and demure. Her similarly cream coat had a tinge of pink blush, especially in the light, like a flower before bloom. Her eyes too were blue, but instead filled with depth and kindness, an observant wisdom that contrasted her outward personality.

These cats, despite their differences, managed to coexist with a semblance of peacefulness in the cat Shelter. But which town, which dark alley, which path you ask? Well, unless you're a cat, I can't really tell you. The only human to ever know the location was the Shelter owner.

And I should know because I am her, Feyre Archeron.