In the heart of a plague-ridden medieval city, a man wandered aimlessly through the streets, his body weak from sickness, his mind clouded by fever. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the streets were emptier than they should have been. Fear clung to the stones like mist, but no one spoke of it aloud.
Exhausted, the man stumbled into a narrow alley, leaning against the cold, unforgiving wall. His legs gave out beneath him, and he slumped to the ground, his breath shallow. To any passerby, he looked like a man on the brink of death.
From the shadows, a small kitten emerged—frail, but with eyes full of warmth and innocence. It hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer, drawn to the quiet figure against the wall. The kitten reached out, its tiny tongue rasping against the man's trembling hand in a tentative lick, a simple gesture of comfort.
The touch pulled the man from his fevered daze, and for a fleeting second, he simply stared. Then his breath quickened. His gaze darkened.
A cat.
His mind twisted the moment, memories of hushed warnings rising like bile in his throat. The sickness, the fear, the whispers—people spoke of them in the same breath. The city had suffered, and in their suffering, they had found an enemy. The rats carried the plague, but the cats walked among them, untouched. People cursed them as demons, as omens of death.
Rage flared. His fingers curled into a fist.
With sudden, violent force, the man lashed out.
The kitten's small body flew through the air, colliding against the hard stone wall with a sickening thud. It crumpled to the ground, its tiny chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The man staggered to his feet and walked away, vanishing into the city's darkness.
The alley grew silent. The world moved on, indifferent.
Then, the air thickened, the shadows deepened. A presence filled the empty space, colder than the night itself. A figure emerged from the void—a hooded being draped in black, its skeletal hands clutching a scythe.
Death had come.
The figure gazed down at the tiny creature, its pale hand reaching toward the kitten, but it did not yet take its soul. The silence stretched, heavy and absolute.
"You knew this would happen," Death murmured. "This city is filled with hatred for your kind. So why did you go to him?"
The kitten, its body weak and broken, lifted its head with the last of its strength. Its voice was barely more than a whisper.
"I just wanted to have a family."
Death did not move. Time itself seemed to waver. Then, slowly, it knelt beside the dying kitten and gathered it into its arms, cradling the small body with a touch neither cold nor cruel.
"Then I will be your family," Death whispered.
The alley fell silent once more, but this time, the kitten did not suffer alone.