Sora 2
The little boy kitten had never felt the world so cold. After their mother died, he was left to care for his younger sister alone. Every day he worked tirelessly, delivering parcels, sweeping streets, doing whatever anyone demanded, just to put food on the table. At night, he would tuck his little sister beside him, making sure she was warm and safe, even though his own body ached from exhaustion. But the world offered no mercy. One morning, he returned home to find her gone. Someone had broken into their tiny home and stolen her while he slept. A note lay in her place, cruel and black: “Pay, or she’s gone forever.” He scrambled, gathered every coin he could, every piece of silver and copper he had earned with blood and sweat. He handed the money to the strangers, desperate and trembling. But they only laughed at him, their eyes cruel, void of any human—or feline—feeling. They refused to return her. Days passed. He searched, begged, and fought, but the world had already taken her. Every step he had taken, every coin he had earned, had brought him nothing. The little sister he had protected, the one tiny anchor he had in a world without love, was gone. And the boy kitten, broken and hollow, realized that sometimes, no amount of sacrifice, no amount of courage, could save the ones you loved most. The streets were cold, the nights were longer, and his paws, once soft and tender, were now raw and scarred from trying to hold onto a life that had already slipped away. There was no happy ending. There never would be