LAYLA
Thalion, Namarie, and Xylara—that was what I called the triplets of cats I'd adopted. They weren't little kittens, probably well into their adult years in cat terms, but they seemed to like me, and I didn't mind them either. In fact, they had become my quiet companions in this strange place. I found comfort in their company, their soft purring a kind of rhythm that helped me forget, if only for a while, the reality of my situation.
They followed me everywhere, their curious eyes watching as I wandered the gardens or slipped into the library to lose myself in books. Sometimes I wondered if they sensed my loneliness. Or maybe, like me, they just wanted something to hold onto.
