Priest was his name as inappropriate as
that was since it couldn't possibly be his profession keeping in mind
that he was, in fact, a cat, but his mannerisms were in accord with
the black suit and white collar that he had donned every day since
his coming into the world. His sleek black coat didn't have a single
flaw; nor did his love for his master excepting one minor glitch. He
was a cat, and in so being, his life span was regrettably short while
his master endured a miserably long existence. At the cursed age of
thirteen, Troy came across a kitten in a most peculiar way although for
some bizarre reason, it didn't seem all that odd to Troy to see a
small kitten, as black as turf bar the white splotch on its throat,
curled under the warm insulation of its adopted mother hen. He found
it somewhat admirable that a young cat should surrender its bestial
instincts to the coziness of a hen's maternal protection. When the
hen moved, so too did the kitten, and hence it was apparent to Troy
that the kitten had developed a loving attachment to something as
unattractive as a hen. It was a hard won battle to steal Priest away
from the hen, but once the kitten felt the enveloping warmth of
Troy's jacket, he was pleased enough with having a master. It was
from that moment that the friendship was established, and happily so,
as Troy was haunted by a perpetual demon that seemed to tortuously
mutilate anything that he felt love for.
His parents were the only exception to
the string of deaths since they abandoned Troy after dropping him at
an orphanage. He had resided with multiple foster families, but each and
every one of the houses had crumbled under some kind of misfortune
that forced them to return Troy to the orphanage. The carers at the
institute initially made a malicious joke out of Troy's seemingly
inevitable solidarity, but the joke lost it's flavor after the boy's
appearance took a disturbing turn for the worse. Eating had come to
a halt, refusal to exercise melted his muscles down to skin and bone,
and the absence of sleep had darkened and deepened his eyes. His hair
was forever disheveled as were his shrunken clothes, and his skin was
so extremely pallid that the color had absolutely drained from every
inch of his body. This grotesque look startled and even frightened
the workers and other children, and as there is always one child
who takes it upon themselves to make matters worse, a rumor started
that he was a living, walking corpse. As time went on, Troy limited
himself to his chamber, and when new children came in waves to the
orphanage, the rumor lingered and seeped into their ears, their
chambers, and even their dreams. Poor Troy became a kind of a ghost,
wandering around the the orphanage that had, through an extended
rumor, transmogrified into his purgatory after he had committed
suicide some years ago, and if one should wait up past three in the
morning, they might just see the form of a weeping boy in the corner
of the sitting room. There was no saving him. He was a lost soul.
