'If You Love Them, Let Them Go'
A small, fluffy little house cat named Bruce lived in a tiny house with a farmer. Bruce was often abused, as his owner did not love him. This farmer, Taliritug, only wanted Bruce for him to be gifted by the gods and sell him to a king for a large sum of money. Ever since Taliritug's wife had left, he had trouble sleeping and consulted the god of rest, Hypnos. His dreams were vivid prayers to give Bruce supernatural abilities. He built shrines to Zeus and Hypnos, in hopes they could give him as he wished. As another day passed and Bruce went hungry, Taliritug sat at the shrines to pray. He sat in silence, the flicker of the candles illuminating his old, aged skin. Bruce watched closely. As Taliritug rose to go to bed, the candles remained lit, forgotten by the old man. Bruce quietly trotted up to the pedestal where Taliritug rested his knees and sat. With all of the voice he had within him, the rumble of a curious meow burned in his throat. He mewed up to the shrines. Then, just as suddenly as the candles had been lit, they blew out. The small cat, confused and a bit shaken, hopped from the pedestal and lay in his bed.
Bruce rose early with the sun the next day, but found himself a bit...Different. What... He pondered to himself. He no longer fit in his bed. His now scaly legs, long and spindly, rest outstretched from where they should be tucked under his stomach as he lie. His long, fluffy tail was now a short bobcat nub. His tufted ears stuck up firmly from upon his head. And then he noticed the weight on his shoulders. He got up to stretch, noticing the rich red and purple scaled limbs extending from him. He admired the strong wings, fanning them in and out. Standing up on his now two legs, he wobbily made his way to Taliritug's mirror, stumbling slightly all the way. His eyes secreted a black, ink like substance. His fangs peeked out from under his mouth. He opened his jaws, and was surprised when words came out.
"What am I...?"
Then Taliritug began to wake. Should Bruce be caught like this, he would be sold. But Taliritug would have to catch him first. He quickly made his way to the door without a sound. He knew not how to fly, but insisted that his wings would carry him far away. As he beat his large wings, powerful gusts from them gently lifted him from the ground. He flew as far as his wings would carry him and dropped into a forest canopy, resting in the branches of a tree. Exhausted, he looked to the sky.
"Please...," His words were shaky. "Zeus... I need help... I cannot go back, yet cannot continue further..." As he finished his plea, the forest became hushed. A cloaked man appeared before him.
"Bruce. Do you truly wish for freedom? You were not granted such powers merely to run, but to be sold."
Bruce snarled. "My name is not Bruce. Taliritug gave me that name. My true owner named me Gatsby."
"Very well, Gatsby, but the task at hand still remains."
"I cannot go back to Taliritug." He felt himself begin to quiver.
"You must."
"No... I will not be sold again!" He cried, afraid of what a new owner may hold.
"Then how does a deal sound?"
Gatsby hesitated. "What kind of deal?"
"You shall be protected from Taliritug should you accept. You will be responsible for taking the lives of those whose time has come. All that is living will die by your touch. But, as a result, your life will be prolonged. Will you accept?"
Gatsby was unsure of what to do. He could accept and never touch another living thing again, or decline and be sold to a king. Never would he allow himself to go through abuse as a house pet again.
