Random Short Stories

More Than Looks [🦋]

(TW for self-mutilation)
In the heart of GladeClan territory, nestled among the gnarled roots of ancient oaks, Cherrywhisker sat beneath the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves.

Her coat was a stunning tapestry of deep red and cream, rippling like flames in the gentle breeze that rustled the underbrush. Her emerald eyes sparkled with intelligence and a hint of mischief, which often drew the gaze of fellow warriors.

Yet, as they often turned to admire her beauty, she felt a familiar pang tighten in her chest, a reminder of the burdens her attractiveness carried.

From the moment she had opened her eyes, Cherrywhisker had been the attention of every cat in the clan. Her mother, a skilled warrior and a beauty herself, had beamed with pride as she showed off her daughter to visiting clans.

From a young age, Cherrywhisker had been aware of the way others regarded her. Her mother would often preen over her, boasting, "Look at my beautiful daughter, the stars shine down upon her!"

Fellow apprentices would fawn over her, vying for her attention not for her skills in battle or her sharp intelligence, but solely for her looks. Nothing else.

It was disheartening to realize that no one seemed to see her for who she was beneath the surface—a fierce, loyal cat with a heart that beat for more than just superficial admiration.

Cherrywhisker grew accustomed to behind heaped with endless flattery and adoration, becoming a warrior whose mere allure overshadowed her talents in battle and her skills in hunting.

Young toms would vie for her affection, serenading her with sweet words and bold gestures. But in their eyes, she was more of a prized decoration than a valued companion.

As a warrior, she proved more than capable, earning her place alongside her clanmates through hard work and courage. During training sessions, her moves were fluid, almost like a dance, yet her heart ached every time an elder or kit praised her for her looks rather than her abilities.

Whenever she returned from a successful hunt, cats would gorge themselves on the glory of her appearance—the graceful bow of her head, the flick of her tail. It sickened her.

Didn't they see the strength behind her beauty? Didn't they know she longed to be recognised for her skills?

One breezy morning, during a patrol near the Gleaming Stream, Cherrywhisker overheard two young toms, Brambletail and Firsong, whispering excitedly about her.

"Did you see how Cherrywhisker looked today?" Brambletail said with a dreamy sigh, his eyes wide with admiration. "She was so radiant! I swear her fur glows in the sunlight!"

Firsong nudged him playfully. "You're such a mouse-brain! You should be thinking about how to be a great warrior like her! What good will her beauty do you in battle?"

"Maybe we could fight to win her heart," Brambletail replied with a mischievous glint, oblivious to the crackling fire of disdain that ignited in Cherrywhisker's heart. She refused to be an object to be won.

With every passing day, her frustration grew, culminating in a decision that was both liberating and frightening. She would reclaim her identity—Cherrywhisker, the warrior, not just the beautiful cat.

As Cherrywhisker grew into adulthood and took on the mantle of a warrior, her beauty only deepened, drawing more attention.

Tomcats would strut around her, swelling with pride in her presence, while queens would shove their kits in her direction, urging them to 'learn from the beauty.'

Cherrywhisker's frustration grew and grew with each passing day. It felt as though her identity was being stripped away, layer by layer, until she was left with nothing but her appearance—a mask that suffocated her true self.