Random Short Stories

What You Want, Not What You Need [🪽]

In the heart of Golden Rose Cult territory, beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient oak, a saga unfolded. The moon hung high in the sky, casting silvery beams through the twilight, illuminating two she-cats in a face-off that seemed to electrify the air around them.

"I want one!" screeched the heir apparent, Vespera, her jewel-clad paw stamping emphatically against the earth. Tricoloured gems glittered against her sleek black fur, a gaudy crown of sorts that only accentuated her royal pretenses.

With a coat as plush as moonlight and jewelled adornments that clinked melodically around her neck, she floated through the forest like a spectre in a castle—a dreamer lost in a world of her own desires.

She was the daughter of a fallen cryptid whose name was lost to time, a mere heir to a throne that had never been hers to claim since the Golden Rose Cult leader Purity chose to foster her.

But oh, did Vespera believe otherwise.

"I want my throne!" she screeched, punctuating her pout with a hefty stomp of her jewelled paw. The light of the setting sun glimmered against her elaborate accessories, drawing the attention of the nearby forest dwellers, who paused in curiosity—or perhaps concern.

"I want my own army!" Another stomp, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath her wrath. "I want my own tribe!" A fourth stomp punctuated her demands, each gesture filled with the childish petulance of a kit who had never heard the word 'no.' "I deserve it!"

The darker she-cat before her, a stern figure of the Chrono elemental race named Purity, narrowed her scalding orange eyes, a well-defined snarl curling on her lips. "Then why don't you act like it?"

Her tone dripped with scorn as she gestured around them: the serene forest, the pale moonlight, and the distant calls of the rest of the Cult cryptids going about their business.

Here, in the embrace of the thriving tribe, Vespera's cries echoed like shrieks of a lost spirit.

Purity, who had fostered many kittens in her time alive until they grew into adulthood and followed the paths they forged, had grown weary of the incessant demands coming from this rather particular foster coming from the Scoto elemental race.

Every day, Vespera's wants only became more ludicrous, and her behaviour more disgraceful for a cat of her supposed station. "Do you think armies grow on trees? That tribes are assembled like trinkets? This isn't a game, Vespera!"

Purity clenched her jaw in exasperation. She had taken Vespera in after her birth parents were lost to conflicts and treachery, raising her as best she could in the wild ways of the Golden Rose Cult.

And somehow, Vespera, shielded from the realities of the brutal tribal cultures and politics, had nurtured in her unmerited importance, and grown into a feline that craved accolades for every meow.

They were in the clearing, a place where the soft grass whispered of simpler times—of wilderness not plagued by egos. Purity had led many battles and fought even harder in the corners of her heart, hoping to forge a good future for the stubborn kit.

But each lesson seemed tossed aside.

Vespera swung her tail defiantly, a regal gesture gone wrong, her jewels dateling like chimes in the breeze. "But I'm royalty! I should be treated as such! I should command an army, I should lead an entire new tribe!"

Her voice rose, the shadow of a kitten's tantrum creeping back into her demeanour. Purity felt her claws sink into the cold dirt below and drew out a low hiss through clenched teeth.

"An army of what?" Purity growled, her voice pushing the words through clenched teeth. "Kits? Fancy trinkets won't fight for you. You think jewels are as good as honour? You think a crown gives you all the Celestials' damned power in the kingdoms?"