Abbernathy and the Cat Kingdom

(6) -Margoliesse-

Morning light slipped through the room's pale pink curtains and fell upon a large, wooden four-poster where one drooling girl and a curled-up cat dreamed of adventure and fish respectively.

The high-pitched screech of the alarm clock-a Wizard Kellog Punishing Series Four-tore through the morning silence and ripped Abby from her dream of trekking over the snow-covered peaks of Terrabund.

Eyes still closed, Abby flung an arm in the direction of the alarm's sound, but caught the tip of Lucy's tail instead. He shot to his feet and gave Abby a hiss as he batted her hand away.

Giving a stretch and a yawn, Lucy shook himself free from the last remnants of sleep, and trotted over to the clock. It continued to blare, making Lucy feel as though his head was about to burst open and splatter the wall with his brains.

It'd be a shame, he thought, to reduce such a splendid face to a mess on one of Abby's boring, white walls. So, determined to end the clock's reign of tyranny and preserve his strikingly handsome face, Lucy took a paw and knocked it off the table.

The clock clattered to the ground, gear guts and tiny metallic hands spilling from the clock's cracked face. It whined, as though it were an anmial caught in a steel trap, before- with one pained, protracted hiss-it finally grew silent.

Lucy narrowed his eyes and puffed out his tail in triumph. Head held high, he trotted across the bed and turned to face his next adversary.

Time to wake, love, he meowed, as he tapped Abby's nose with a paw.

Abby grumbled something he was sure was gibberish before turning on her side to get away from him.

Come now. Don't be such an impetuous grump. Lucy jumped over Abby's body to face her again and smacked her nose harder this time.

"Knock it off, Lucy," Abby said, as the cat navigated around a puddle of drool that'd gathered in the folds of her pillowcase. Undeterred, the cat brought his paw down on her a final time with just enough claw to catch her nose.

"Okay, okay."

Abby harrumphed and shooed Lucy away before peeling her eyelids open, the blurry wonders of Mirea staring back at her from her ceiling.

"You're relentless," she said as she looked at the small cat next to her. He sat cleaning his whiskers, basking in his success.

Abby sighed and sat up, stretching her arms overhead. The silk blanket slunk off her shoulders like a snake shedding its skin and gathered in her lap.

Lucy nipped her hand. Abby gave the cat a little half-smile and slid a hand down his back and tail. Content, Lucy nestled himself in the folds of nightgown and closed his eyes.

Abby yawned, her gaze wandering from Lucy to the roaring waterfalls of Dewlin painted across her ceiling. It had always been her dream to have an adventure-a grand one recorded for future generations-full of discovery and hard fought battles, friendships and love.

She wished she could live a life unfettered by a noble's duty, filled with free-flowing libations, dancing, and off-key singing; the same chaotic life she'd heard erupting from the streets of Laos come nightfall.

Abby felt her room grow small as she realized her world would never be as big as she hoped it would be. Inside these walls, surrounded by all the opulence-the fine linens, the finer furniture-her life would be decided by her class. She was expected to be a dutiful child, and, when she was old enough, a loving wife. Abby sighed. She would make a terrible wife.

"Besides," she muttered. "Who would I even marry?"

Lucy looked up at the girl with a quizzical gaze.