“Sperantia!”
There it was again. That name. Her name. Sperantia knew that she was Sperantia; what she didn’t know is how everyone else knew it, too. Whatever else she had been in her mystery of a life, it had been well-known. The woman in the hospital ward had used her name when she’d first woken up, too - causing a tug of familiarity in her gut - and she’d heard the uniformed men from the castle shout it in the forests. She was known, and she was sought after in her absence. And that was about all she knew about herself.
Sperantia half-turned, keeping part of her attention on the bottom of the wardrobe in case the mouse decided to run out again. Any predator’s prey drive was hard to fight, and cats were among the most successful of all predators; the fury of the hunt still pounded too strongly in her veins to ignore. The unfamiliar woman was rising out of bed when Sperantia par-turned towards her, and was struck firstly by her skin colour: olive brown. A second later, she was struck by why that had struck her. Who cared what colour skin anyone had? Why should she feel anything for it, let alone an emotion she didn’t even recognise? Sperantia shook off the enigmatic feeling irritably just as another body - a smaller boy - appeared in the doorway. She barely glanced at him; her attention went immediately and wholly to the bird on his shoulder. The size and dietry habits of a bird had never put off the sleek oriental cat, who enjoyed a challenge more than anything.
She blinked her sharp blue eyes. How did she know that?
I know myself, Sperantia thought furiously, as though she could will the knowledge into being through sheer determination. She swivelled back to the wardrobe, prepared to ignore the room’s occupants for as long as it took to get her prize, when the otter piped up. One paw lifted in a rather doglike pointing position, she froze, processing those words. The emphasis was indicative of fame. Sperantia had already known she was known, but there was a difference between celebrity and being celebrated. The otter made it sound like she had done something in her life which other people should know about. Something she didn’t know about. Quick as a whip, she spun around in a tight circle and performed an elegant standing leap onto the bed, where she landed lightly on her pads. A tremendous purr - louder than seemed possible from such a small creature - emanated from her chest as she prowled forwards, holding the otter in her sights with a pair of gleaming eyes.
“Who she is?” She repeated in her deep voice, and paused right in front of the other animal with her ears pointed forward and her tail erect. She cocked her head. “You’re a familiar,” she stated dispassionately, feeling the odd tugging sensation in her gut again. Her eyes roamed over the woman, the boy and the owl, before resting back on the woman. “You seem to know all about me. So tell me; who are you?”
Sperantia
la soledad es un tipo de veneno
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