Narinder had recently been marked by the Lamb. Not in any positive way mind you, the Lamb litteraly forced him to the floor of the temple with chains that he couldn't break, chains that gave him flashbacks if his imprisonment, and they burned a mark into his abdomen with a ritual that required the Lamb smearing the mark with their blood.

And oh boy did the Lamb have fun with that one! They kept forcing him to submit becouse now he had no choice but to! They kept violating him and hurting him in ways he never thought the Lamb capable. For what did he deserve this foul punishment? The cat didn't know.

And so, Narinder sat in the cult's little garden that the Lamb kept for relaxation and meditation. It was quiet. The best place in the cult probably. You'd always find narinder here amongst the statues in respect for the fallen gods. Narinder and his siblings all got statues.

Silly of the Lamb, he thought, why build a statue out of respect to him, yet not show any of that respect in person? Narinder just exhaled before burying his face in his paws. The Lamb had their fun yesterday, but Narinder didn't. His body ached and was oh so sore. He's tired. He's worn. He's used. And he feels disgusting.

-"What a joke."

The black cat sighed sadly, curling his tail around his legs as he remembered the events. Best be forgotten. Not that he could.