An Ethuri sits alone in a windowless cell. There was no cot, no hay, not even the warmth of the sun to provide any comfort. Still, it was home. At least it had been the past week.
Normally such a place would prove difficult to deal with for the average guest, but not to one so accustomed to a life in the shadows of the world. The only sounds to be heard are the distant wailings of the other guests and the drips of the water from the cracked ceiling, that pricked up her long pointed ears as they pitter pattered against the stone floor.
The time had come. She could hear the trudging of the jailer as he waddled towards the iron barred door. She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like he had gotten fatter since she had arrived. He stood at the bars and looked in, her glowing eyes staring back at him from across the room. He whistled to her.
“Dinner time kitty,” he said with a mocking sneer. “Oh my what do we have today? Some sort of paste it looks like. Might be glue, I dunno, and, oh! What's this? A bit of salted pork?”
He lowered his face into his chin.
“You won’t be needing that, will you kitty?”
The jailer scoops up the salted pork from the dented bowl and holds it above his mouth in a grand gesture of superiority. He closes his eyes and drops it into his mouth. The only issue was that there was no salted pork to be found as he chomped. He opens his eyes, baffled. In the confusion, he turns away from the barred door to check the ground for the missing snack. Just for a moment, but it was long enough.
He turns to face the glowing eyes still staring back at him. With no food to find and no reason to linger, the jailer waddles back up the hall, huffing and puffing in frustration. Suddenly, through the dripping of water and the cries of the other prisoners, he notices an all new sound. Behind him, the metal clang of a turned lock echoes. He whips around to face the Ethuri’s cell, only to find the iron barred door swinging wide open. With a gulp, he reaches down his back for the keys, but there are none to be found.
As the jailer runs down the hall, shouting to the guards, the Ethuri is long gone. She stands atop a nearby watchtower, looking to the moon with a content smile on her face. A brief respite. Suddenly a bird flies silhouetted against the light in the distance. It is a sight largely unwelcome to her. Embittered by a painful reminder, she descends into the bustling city streets below, looking for her next mischievous outing.