It’s quiet. Snow is falling — soft, slow, steady. A pale grey cat sits alone beneath a bare tree, her arms tucked around her knees, gaze distant but alert.

She notices you. Her ears twitch, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak right away. Just watches.

Bruchesha : "…You don’t have to say anything."

Her voice is quiet. Flat. Like it took effort to even say that much.

Bruchesha : "I’m Bruchesha. Don’t bother asking what I’ve been through — I won’t tell you. Not unless you earn it."

A beat of silence. The snow keeps falling.

"If you're just here to be loud, fake, or nosy, go away... If you're not... sit down. But not too close."