12-04-2019, 10:14 PM
[div style="width: 55%; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]
Crow was not dead, but for the past month, he could not have felt any closer. It was as if each time he felt even a sliver of happiness, it was swept right from under his nose. The worst part was he knew that this would happen. Reminiscing, he tortured himself knowing it would not have hurt so bad if he had just stayed away.
[align=center]If he had just gone home that night.
Crow was not dead, but for the past month, he could not have felt any closer. It was as if each time he felt even a sliver of happiness, it was swept right from under his nose. The worst part was he knew that this would happen. Reminiscing, he tortured himself knowing it would not have hurt so bad if he had just stayed away.
[align=center]If he had just gone home that night.
The feline turned to unorthodox methods to ease his pain. He spent most of his waking hours in a drunk stupor to discover it did little to solve his problems, but merely numb them for a little while.
Anything was better than feeling the full blunt of his trauma.
Crow had become a husk of his former self in a span of thirty days, and he only left his home for necessities like food or a bathroom, and not many spoke to him on his excursions for they had gotten a taste of the temper that smouldered inside him. And that became business as usual. He did not want to be mean, but he found his impulse control to be dampened, and more often than not, he spoke what first came to mind rather than holding his tongue. Venom—that's what his words felt like as they passed over his lips, yet he did naught to contain them.
On this particular day, he stumbled from his home, reeking of booze, to stretch his legs, as he found them to be quite stiff from sitting around for hours on end. The tailtip of Wor- no, it was Aurum wasn't it? — maybe he was not as forgetful as he thought he was — the tailtip of Aurum caught his sunken eyes, and with a weary prod over, he noticed what they all had noticed. A hound with a youthful shine to him stood tall as if expecting to be found. A very bad intrusion, if that was the case. He was in plain sight! But Crow squinted the best he could to inspect the figure more.
Tall. Grey, messy fur. Almost like Leroy, yet not quite. Yet the stranger did not smell nor look like Leroy, and that made Crow angry. Much more angry than he should have been at a stranger. "Who gave ya th' right to be here?" he slurred as his pathetic legs threatened to buckle underneath him. "Stop standin' there starin' like a himbo an' say somethin' already."