PROPHET

Death was their birthright.[break][break]

The espurr was never allowed to forget that their mother had died to birth them. The Patriarch had thought of it as a cruel blessing and would later declare it to be an early sign of the gods' favor. Some of the espurr's earliest memories were of braiding flowers into their father's fur as he preached of the beginning and the end - how the espeon would curl his paw around them and how his voice would boom in their ears as he spoke of a world consumed and birthed again from flames.[break][break]

They had always been a sickly little thing. When the other children laughed and played, they watched from the shadow of the nanny the Patriarch employed to cage protect them. Even at that early age, their blessing clearly defined the boundaries of their world. They did not leave the estate. They did not play with the other children. When their father preached to his flock, the espurr sat in the crook of his tail. The offerings to the gods were left in their tiny paws and at the time they did not understand the significance of it all. How could they? They were so small.[break][break]

They had known only that they were divine.[break][break]

The ache of their little bones was divine. The power that leaked from them was divine. Their loneliness was divine.[break][break]

But why do I lie awake each night thinking

It was the nature of the world to change. As the little espurr grew into their divinity, their father faded away. He was already old when they came into the world. They knew by now that it was their right to lead the flock after he passed - but they had been raised to be demure. A pretty little thing to be seen and not heard.[break][break]
They did not speak up when he selected an older boy. They did not speak up when their fate was sealed and their father promised them to him. They were a good child, after all. Good children did not question their father.[break][break]
It was a cold night when the Patriarch died. He left nothing to the espurr. It was not their way. It was burned with his body.[break][break]
They stood by the side of their husband as he led. He was not a good leader. He was not even a kind one. They watched as their people suffered under cruel claws and greed. They did not understand. He could not take these things with him to the other side.[break][break]
Perhaps they were motivated by hatred. Maybe it was envy. Or maybe... It was out of love.[break][break]
They cooked for him that evening. It was simple enough to slip something into his drink. They were kind about it. They held his paw while he died and assured him that they would make sure his death had not been in vain. The family would flourish in his absence.[break][break]
They greeted the family that morning with the face of a meowstic and the heart of a killer.[break]

Instead of you, it should be me?

Unfortunately, the Family had suffered greatly under his husband. The nearby village was no longer quite so tolerant of the Family and it was less than a week after the meowstic became leader that the villagers retaliated for the cruelties enacted against them.[break][break]

The estate burned in the night.[break][break]

The meowstic surely would have perished within the flames if not for the quick thinking of one of his bodyguards. As sickly as he was, he could not escape on his own - so they carried him through the flames. They were burned badly and in his worst nightmares, the meowstic can still smell the smoke and hear their cries of pain.[break][break]

The once-great Family was left in ruins. Their home had been completely destroyed and many of their kin had died. The survivors were burned and homeless. The meowstic gave his first true sermon that night. He spoke of a new beginning for them all. After, of course, they enacted their revenge on the village.[break][break]

It was with the blood of the heretic on his brow and the smell of smoke clinging to his fur that he was hailed as the avatar of the gods.

And so, they called him The Prophet.[break][break]

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