E U L O G Y singer [spiritstep's bio]

(freestyle app what what. i needed to explain everything i guess. my muse is coming reluctantly so i stole quite a bit of this from a thread i wrote way back in 2010—with edits, of course. i still feel like i could perfect some things but im tired so yeah here it is.)

You were born from nothing. The youngest in a litter of boys, everything you ever had you earned. Small and unassuming, you fell so many warriors who underestimated you for your stature. It was true, you never did look like the makings of a leader, nor were you ever the clan's favorite, but you clawed your way up and forced the gates open for you: the young prodigy, the quick warrior with the bright eyes! And perhaps you felt a little glee as Thornstar was stricken down, as Cloverflower took his place leaving a gap wide open for a deputy. And who was a better replacement then you were? You were the sharpest and most cunning warrior in the clan. You were chosen in a heartbeat. Of course, you sped up Cloverstar's demise a bit, but nobody ever noticed and, why, you had much better makings for a leader than she did anyways. You accepted the crown with perfectly timed humility and grief for your old mentor, oh, dear Cloverflower, poisoned in her own den! How horrifying, how carnal.

(Nine lives, one star. You stayed up late that night in your new den testing out your new name over and over again on your tongue.

"Spiritstar.")

Claws ripped through your chest, and you met the ground. Everything seemed so much louder, and it all hurt so much. You had watched many cats' eyes close for the final time, but never did you think about what it would feel like when your's closed as well. Reality began to blur as you closed your eyes and heard her all too familiar voice.

"Spiritstep."

You could hear the disdain in her voice as she revived you. You never were Spiritstar in her eyes, just Spiritstep. Her apprentice, her deputy, the last cat she ever saw. Even in her last moments as you presented her food, she wasn't afraid of you. In her eyes, you were just her foolish apprentice. And you hated that. You hated her.

Reality came back in a rush. Fernpelt was looming over you, placing a paw tentatively on your scarred chest. There was a new mark now, freshly scabbed. You looked up and then realized you could die at any time. Your eyes would close forever and you'd cease to exist but in subconscious of the chosen fews' minds. Or maybe, you'd reside in the Dark Pool.

Would that be your fate?

They decided that you weren't fit to be leader. You were crippled and half dead. They stripped you of your status and your name and threw you into the Elder's den.

You never were honorable, but still you dreamed of an honorable death. To die in battle! To fall to a warrior greater than you, to finally meet your match, that was something you craved. You would welcome that darkness, that final blow, that period that ended your last sentence of pages and pages of deceit and trickery. You were not destined for this death. This slow and drawn-out decay. And perhaps, on your first night in your new den for the first time in your many lives, you cried.

Pathetic.

Self-loathe and depression came quickly. The bore and comfort of your privilege born out of nothing but pity just dug you a hole you could not escape from. Your light was fading, dulled by disease and old age, and you soon realized that eventually you would be forgotten, your glory replaced by those younger than yourself. You didn't even care anymore.

You decided to rot slowly.