I have not, for almost 6 years, touched a pencil. Or pen. Or digital canvas. Not since i wanted a new life. Not since I swore to put it all away. These people. This life.

I wanted, in a word, to be normal.

But it can never happen. You can't take something that has been such a deep part of you, chain it in a box, and lock it in the deepest recesses of your mind. It will always be there, whispering, whimpering, pleading in the shadows. Such it was for him. I took all those desires, dark thoughts and secret wishes, and I put them into a crimson feline. Then I named him.

And then I shunned him. But I could not kill his spirit.

And so here I am. Every book, every drawing, every bit of the life that he used to live has been destroyed. But yet here he is. 6 years later, he took pen to pad and broke the chains.

He could not, would not, be silenced. And now I get to atone for what I did to him. Prithe he will not be miserly with forgiveness.

Kheetah Ohryon Vubatus
"TSC"