The sky was like a kaleidoscope of colors as dusk slowly existed for night to arrive; a rare sight from the continuous drought that refused to leave for, worryingly, almost a year now. From as far as the horizon, tall cogon grass covered the land in a sea of green, the leaves creating waves whenever the wind blew past.
Movements broke the tranquil scene. The leaves rustled, and from the gaps, one could see someone—a girl, running. Her steps were hurried and panicked, her breathing an echo in the almost silent surroundings.
A particular sturdy tangle of plants caught her foot, and it sent her falling into an unseen pond. The body of water was deeper than it looked, and in quite a frantic state, the girl could only try to thrash around for something but ended up sinking further.
On the banks, a shadowed figure stood by, staring at the spot where the girl sank. It raised its hand—sharp claws and fingers thin like twigs—reaching out but suddenly stopped. It looked to its right and, like a phantom, vanished on its spot just in time as a carved branch impaled the place where it stands.
Drought had plagued their village for months now, so it was easy for the fire to spread.
Amila was not sure what was happening anymore. The morning started out like normal: her doing her usual chores, grumbling about the hot days. Now, the village was nothing but a sea of fire, and the people were on the ground crying in pain and fear. The village head, which she had seen catch fire, was now unmoving.
A hand grabbed her by the arm and turned her around, her father's face occupying her vision.
"You need to go. Now.” Her father told her in an urgent voice. “Run to the woods, then if you come across a river, follow it downstream. Do not stop until you are absolutely sure that it’s safe.”
Her father's face is frantic, soot and dirt smearing his cheeks. His lips wobbled, but he gave her a small smile as he pulled something off his head and wore it on Amila’s neck. An amulet, worn and chipped in the edges, with a smoothed carving of a branching tree in its center. He smoothed his hand on her red hair. "I love you, my little spitfire." He then pushed her and urged her to run. Before she left, she saw a tall hooded shadow moved close to her father.
Amila shot sitting up with a gasp. Cheeks damp and breathing heavy from her now-familiar dream, it took her a moment to notice that she was lying in an unfamiliar bed in a very unfamiliar room.
The threads around her quiver at her sudden actions, making her close her eyes and control her breathing. She couldn't get herself be out of control and made the threads more agitated and caused an explosion. Again.
"Oh great, you're awake! I thought you decided to go directly to the other side."
Amila's head shot towards the only door, only to see that it was closed. Confused and weary, she looked around the room for the owner of the voice when—
"Down. Look down," the voice said with a sigh. Amila looked down, and she saw a black cat looking up at her, its tail lazily flicking and swaying. The two continued to stare at each other until the cat clicked its tongue. "Well? Are you going to say anything?"
A beat. And then, "AAAHHH! THE CAT JUST TALKED!" Amila frantically crawled back until she fell off the edge of the bed.
"Every time," the cat muttered and padded to where the girl fell over. "Yes, I am a talking cat. Yes, I was born like this, and no, I will not eat you nor curse you."
From her spot on the floor, Amila could see the artwork of an eye covering the entire ceiling. Brocades of gold against emerald green decorated the corners, and the wall's pastel pink and gold wallpaper was peeling off on many parts. Eclectic decorations on the wall and dresser abound, ranging from pinned butterflies in frames to obelisk-like decorations that looked like they were made with random objects glued together.
". . . Did I die?"
The cat moved to her line of sight. "Debatable. Do you feel any pain? Dizzy? Maybe want to vomit?"
"Disoriented, I think." Amila carefully moved to sit on the floor, trying to put as much space as possible from the talking cat. Her whole body was taut, her eyes narrowed at the creature, ready to bolt at the smallest signs of danger. "What are you? And what is this place?"
Ignoring her tense voice, the cat mirrored her and sat down, facing her. "My name's Noir. And aside from the talking thing, I'm but a simple cat." Amila looked like she didn't believe it. Noir just licked its paw. "We found you sinking in the pond about two days ago and brought you here."
"Two days ago..." Amila looked around the room again. So, she's... safe? From that thing? She then anxiously reached inside her shirt and pulled the amulet, visibly relaxing when it’s still in her possesion.
"Come on," the cat said, stretching and then walking towards the door. "If you can stand, you should move towards the kitchen. You need to get food on your stomach."
As if on cue, Amila's stomach grumbled. The cat's smirk widened when the girl threw him a glare, its tail flicking about in a relaxed manner. They didn't do anything with me so far, Amila thought, deciding that they'll probably not murder her on the spot. When she was steady enough on her feet, Noir led her out of the room down a set of old, ornate stairs.
"The place was abandoned and looked old. But still beautifully bedecked, eh?" Noir said when it noticed Amila looking around in wonder. "Sham and I came across it a year and a half ago. It can be inconvenient at times, having the place a bit far from proper civilization, but it worked out for us. Well, not that there's any civilization left around a hundred miles."
The house had tall paned windows, though some of the grids had their glass broken and was patched up using the wall's wallpaper. From what she could tell from outside—the glass was too dusted to see clearly—it was already late afternoon, though the faint wind from outside felt as if its still high noon.
They're not bolted, at least. I can use it if need to.
Her eyes then moved around the room, taking in on the weird decorations and out-of-place furniture. The threads here were calmer—cool shades of blue and green and light yellow instead of the bright orange and red she usually feared. Good. She still kept her hands to her side just in case.
The wallpaper in the kitchen was in the same state as the room she's been in, but the sink as well as the pots and utensils all looked sparkly clean. Noir jumped on the table and pointed his nose at a plate of rolled bread in a bowl. "Sham always ends up baking more than necessary, but I guess it works this time."
"Who's Sham?"
A sudden crash made Amila yelp in surprise, which was then followed by a set of objects clanging and falling down the floor and a voice groaning.
"Every time," Noir sighed. He hopped down from his perch and trotted to the source of the sound. Amila, not wanting to be left alone in an unfamiliar room, followed close.
"I hope you didn't hit your head on the floor again, because I am not losing fur again while trying to bandage you."
The person—a girl—chuckled, "I don't think I want to relive that either." She moved so she's now kneeling down instead of lying flat on the floor and gathered her extremely long, light blond hair on her back. Her skin is fair, like that of a porcelain doll, and so Amila could easily see where she had hit herself when she fell down based on the reddened area on her forehead. A part of her left face, reaching up her eye, was a pale scar that slightly resembled burned skin. The pupil on that eye was white, likely blind, making a contrast to her green right eye. When she noticed her, she made an "oh" sound and quickly stood up, almost falling down again when she accidentally stepped on her hair.
"You're awake! Thank heavens," the girl greeted with a smile before rounding to the cat. "Why didn't you tell me that she's awake? It's rude to make a visitor—or a patient, in this case—wait without showing proper hospitality. I haven't even prepared a meal yet!"
"Calm down, you helpless klutz. Redhead here just woke up. I just showed her to the kitchen when you made your ruckus." Noir then turned Amila. "This here is Sham. She's the only human around here."
"That's because we're the only two ones living here." Sham turned to smile again today. "Let me fix you a plate. You're probably hungry." Before she could say anything, Amila was then pulled by the arm, Sham's grip surprisingly strong despite her small frame.
All three of them moved back to the kitchen. "We've found you almost drowning when we were coming back from shopping supplies a couple of days ago," Sham explained as she filled her with a bowl of thick soup, sliced some bread, and handed it to Amila. "I tried to resuscitate you, but my knowledge of such things was limited, so I brought you with us to monitor your condition. We were planning on sending you to a proper clinic if you won't wake up for another day."
"Good thing, too. All those clowns in the town already pretty much thought of you as a witch, imagine what they'll think when you bring an unconscious person you picked up in the middle of nowhere." Noir climbed back up the table and scratched the surface, having Sham give it a look, which it ignored. "How did you end up falling in that pond, anyway?"
Amila froze in her actions and looked down. Sensing the other's change, Sham then changed the topic. "Whatever the reason, it's good that you've woken up and are fine. Though I would like it if you stay for at least another night, just so we could make sure you're alright."
The image of the phantom-hooded figure flashed through her mind. "Thank you." She held the amulet through her shirt. She couldn't drop her guard just yet, but maybe… a night or two with a proper bed could be arranged. She'd had to keep an eye on the talking cat, though. "My name is Amila. I'll. . . be in your care, then."