The Cat Spurn
The spine snaps onto the back, mandible like clicks echo in the tomb. Hands frantically reach in vain, the skull whip crack clamps down. The body lets out a last desperate wail then slumps puppet strings cut.
The bodies previous conscious is pushed into a corner of the mind, walled off, locked away, forgotten. The Cats spurn curiously looks around at the amount of room within this manikin. Much larger than the last one.
Slight twitches start as nerves are reestablished, veins reset and ink black blood starts to flow. The new owner tests out the model, flexing fingers, bouncing on the balls of feet.
The country side tells stories of an evil errant knight, clad in armour with a most peculiar helmet fashioned after a cats skull. Of sockets that reflect light, of a feline grace not possible for one in such weight. And of a terrible cruelness. Of challenging others to fair duels before toying with them.
Slicing ligaments, hamstringing challengers, blinding offenders and bleeding all. Letting some look to leave before lightning fast striking through limbs, pinning them to the ground. All the while a deep rumbling chuckle that rolls around within the chest.
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