That night, Whitefire lay awake in her bed, buried in her blankets and pillows, memories haunting her. Fire, explosions, faceless people, unidentifiable bodies and voices all intermingling with the sound of gunshots, and one...familiar...face.
Whitefire sat up, close to tears. Both her heart and mind were a mess. Flashes of the earlier destruction she’d caused sped through her thoughts as she sat there, distraught. Her ears flicked slightly, noticing the muffled sound of the TV on in the living-room. Diamn was awake, probably watching some late night show.
A small timid knock on her door made her jump. “Come in.” She whispered.
Diamn came in her room, not bothering to turn on any lights. He stood by her doorway, biting his lip nervously. “Are you alright?”
Her eyes closed, and she let out a small, calming breath. “Yes, Diamn, I’m fine.” Looking up at him, she gave the young cat a strained smile. “You should try and go to bed. It’s late.”
“You can’t trick me, Whitefire.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
Diamn took a few steps closer. “I know you aren’t feeling well. Don’t lie.”
Whitefire was silent for a moment, her face suddenly blank and unreadable. “You are absolutely right Diamn.” Her mouth twisted into a snarling smile as she stood up, grabbing a pistol off of her dresser. “I have never been well.” She started walking to her door, cocking the gun as she went.
Diamn’s eyes widened, then narrowed as he placed himself in her path. “No. I won’t let you leave. You aren’t in your right mind, Whitefire.” He tensed as she stopped and stood silently in front of him. “I won’t let you leave.”