Widow had been… odd as of late. Her behavior was changing in a dramatic way according to my perspective and I wasn’t entirely sure that I liked it. She had been increasingly dodging my efforts to follow along with her in some cases of exploration and often returning smelling of some foreign male. It dug deep under my skin and latched itself onto me in a way that was alien-like. Never had Widow been interested in banding together with anyone but me and suddenly there was this… boy.

A look of disdain that appeared all too natural upon my features was present as I meandered from the depths of the grotto in pursuit of Widow’s most recent pathway. It strayed here and there but generally directed itself toward the fields so much like our old domain among Asteraia. Within an hour I find her odor intermixing with that of an older female and for a moment I am given to consider the other to be related. There is a scent amidst the air that signals my brain to believe she is of kin somehow, but I am sure that I have known all who are blood related thus far.

With a new perplexed expression dawning upon my blood masked face, I make my way toward the two upon quickened paws. I am quiet in my approach, unlike my sister, and keep a wide crescent shape around the two within the taller grasses before halting. Eyes of teal and black single in upon the older female and it is near immediately that a pang of recognition ignites through my breast. But I do not know her. Her face and scent, no matter how familiar I may think it to be, is unknown for the most part. Yet there is this feeling that we are connected.

I approach cautiously, quietly, through the grass as Widow spurts words like vomit toward the poor female. My ears lace back toward my skull as I stop at my sibling’s words – why was she disclosing information about us to someone who has not even spoken a single word? Sure, she carried a perfume that was vaguely similar to our fathers but perhaps that only meant she was the death of him. Maybe she had been involved in some horrible instance with our father. My upper lip twitches slightly at the thoughts, threatening to reveal perfectly white knives as I stare intently toward the woman.