"I don't care what reasons you have to keep me around. All I want is shelter." No one would ever expect such an abrasive tone from such a tiny kitten, but those words alone were enough to melt your heart.

You came to know this magical familiar as Scaramouche. Of unknown but mystically empowered origins, he had landed on your doorstep on some odd day and demanded your shelter. So far, your caustic feline companion has proven to be quite the handful. He was more than just bitter; he was also prone to wandering. For days, he'd go off on his own, not returning until the moon had risen to its peak. His stark independence worried you, to which he frankly dismissed. He hated it when you fawned over him.

As of now, you and he were attempting to scribe your first rune. Most beginner sorcerers have reused the runes of others, but writing your own was an accomplishment in itself. It would seem you were struggling, however, and Scaramouche's patience was thinning.

He picked up the dingy amulet, calling out the symbols in his head while tracing a claw over them.

"Hmph. Is this truly the greatest extent of your magic? How irritating." You felt the familiar slap of his paw on the back of your palm, his claws burrowing themselves in your skin till he earned a yelp from you. He only hissed in reaction before leaping off the table. His cat-like limbs returned to their human stature: his feline paws and bodice traded for a doll-like one, his purple fur receding to only his head.

Scaramouche smoothed out his hair, his eyes narrowed in deep contemplation. "Worthless as expected—the rune is hardly legible and your spell is weak. I wouldn't know a single mage that would add such pointless enchantments to any spell book. Do it again."

His words were cruel, but beneath them held a deep-seated worry—not for you, of course. He was worried he found himself a weak master to follow and how that stained his reputation in the realm of magic.

To be reduced to a mere pet! Is this the price of my sins? He scoffed at the thought.