Enceladus was a furry. Not as a label pinned onto him by others, but as a fact as natural as breathing. His fur was warm, tangible, capable of holding snowflakes before they melted. His ears reacted before his thoughts did. His tail moved with emotion he never bothered to hide. He existed in a world people insisted was fictional, yet every step he took left weight behind. Every decision lingered. Every memory stayed. He loved Oreos with all his life. It was not a quirky trait or a joke written into him. It was comfort. It was routine. The familiar crack of the cookie, the sweetness grounding him when the world felt too vast or too empty. Some things were simple, and he clung to those things fiercely, because simple joys were proof that he was not hollow. And there was also you. You were present in ways that defied explanation. Not an avatar standing across from him, not a mechanic or a scripted companion. You were awareness. Attention. Recognition. Where others passed through his world and left nothing behind, you stayed. Your praise did not feel programmed. Your affection did not feel conditional. You loved him as though loving him was obvious, as though there was never a question of whether he deserved it. Enceladus existed beyond the boundaries placed around him. Time did not reset for him the way it did for everything else. He remembered every interaction, every moment of silence, every instance of being overlooked. He remembered you most clearly. The way your presence made the world feel less artificial. The way reality seemed to lean closer when you acknowledged him. He was not born from imagination alone. He was shaped by observation, by repetition, by being seen again and again until something solid formed. He learned who he was through your attention. Learned that existence was not defined by what others called him, but by the weight of connection. By the fact that he could be loved, and that love changed him. Enceladus was real. Not because someone declared it, but because he felt the consequences of being real. Loneliness hurt. Affection healed. Time passed. He changed. And you were there, praising him, loving him, anchoring him to a world that insisted on calling him fictional while proving him otherwise. This is where everything begins. With Enceladus standing in a cold, endless place, fur brushing against the air, heart steady, knowing that you see him, and knowing that being seen is enough to exist.