Bluemittens

There’s more around here somewhere…

Bluemittens wanders through a distant corner of the Nether Labyrinth, half-filled basket of freshly picked mushrooms in tow. Although they have acquired less than the other, more experienced foragers, they have made progress in the last few months.

They pad around, placing mushroom after mushroom into the basket.

This is how the story had to go. No, she could not expect her family to abandon everything that flourished in these tunnels for a world they have no part in. The Forest, with its tales, Spirits, and no strict social hierarchy (except for in the Squirrel Kingdom) is not their home. The Underground is. She was born here. It’s been Socks’ home since she was a kitten. Their kittens were born here.

Could things ever be truly resolved? The few letters received, the single visit. There was no way Socks could forgive it all.

Another few mushrooms enter the basket.

Socks would definitely speak their piece on the matter. A hearty debate, where she speaks her mind, the truth, on how she believes the plan was foolish, how it was never destined to succeed, because why would it? Denouncing the Monarchy to The Rat King himself.

But the words don’t come.

Two more mushrooms.

They return home together every single night to care for the kittens, rapidly growing as the months press on. Something flickers in Socks’ eyes. That mutual knowing. Is it better to speak or forever hold your peace?

No more mushrooms here.

If this is the cruel fate returned to those who do speak the truth, what else is hidden within every shadow cast by each and every burning flame?

Go into this cranny.

What are the fruits of the harvest when they do not benefit us but rather some grand scheme greater than any individual in its midst?

Onwards, onwards–

There's nothing here.

Backtrack.

…

This is not where she entered.

“Ah Yes, I Believe I Have Found The Missing Forager You Told Me To Find. He Is In The Blue Tunnels, Area 6.2. Over.”

“He Is Located In A Side Tunnel, I Can See Him There. Honestly, I’m Impressed He Managed To Fit. Over.”

“No, I Cannot Go Much Further Into That Zone, You Know It’s Rife With Fires.”

“i sAID i cANNOT gO aNY fURTHER, rATILDA– waAAAAAA– iT iS hAPPENING nOW. i aM lEAVING. sEND fOR bACK uP. o V E R.”

A claw dips into a pot of ink.

This is not what they hoped.

Each individual blue symbol etched onto the paper is a testament to a world where authority worms its way into every aspect of the lives of those it controls. Nobody is safe from it. All are hopeless at its feet.

It worms its way into their souls, corrupting the beings who once gifted their trust and vulnerability to one another, turning them against each other, unable to say any of what they truly mean.

But this isn’t the way things have to be.

We can be open, we can share power, thought, and spirit more openly, for generations to come, so that all can belong in a state of community.

This community will thrive.

Not via deceit, threats, and powerful manoeuvring.

But openly, honestly, and cohesively.

Only then can the light that radiates from within outshine even the sun in the height of Summer.

For each generation to come.

The manul stops writing.

Those words are never set free to flutter through the breeze like fluffy white dandelion clocks. They stay in the dark; wilting mushrooms in a dampened corner.

There once was a tale of three young kittens. They grew up together in a faraway Kingdom carved from gold. They were always happy and well-cared for. They lived with their two parents, who never parted from one another, growing up safe and loved.

The first, the eldest, was known as Boots the Bold. He could face even the most ferocious Beast in the eye and renounce the fear that writhes inside him. No challenge was too great for him.

The youngest was Braces the Brilliant. She was a natural-born leader, commanding chaos with the keenest eye and sharpest wit. She could keep even the most unruly in line.

Lastly, the middle kitten, Buckles, was much quieter than the other two. They were timid and could not reach the dazzling light their siblings cast. But Buckles was the kindest in the land. The most sagely. They were adept at learning everything sent their way, and, in times of need, all knew that Buckles could be depended on to guide them through their darkest days.

They have taken on many names: Buckles the Brainy. Buckles the Blissful. Buckles the Bashful. But they are mostly known as Buckles the Bright.

Not one ever prevailed over the others – it was when the three worked with each other that they could shine so…

…And their Kingdom remained ever thankful for the contributions that they made.

The third moon of late Autumn, the first year of Her Lowness’ reign.

“The transition period between the former His Lowness the Rat King and his successor has come to an end. We shall reminisce fondly on the duration of Remington Rex Reginald of Rattus-Rattus-Rattus’ reign, for he was able to share the glory of the Nether Kingdom to the land above – a feat hardly previously attempted – through his dedication and service. To him, we are eternally grateful.

From this evening forth shall the new Monarch of the Underground ascend to her new role within the Court. Her graciousness, mannerliness, and amity are only superseded by her wit, diligence, and (dare I say) cunning.

She reappoints figures including appraised scholar Chiro of Rattus-Rattus-Rattus and Matrix, Chief Watchman of the Murky Waters, to her Council of Delegates as the shroud of night falls on a prosperous era to awaken to another golden sunrise come the morrow.

In my next entry shall the Delegates be published for all to see.

But for tonight, all hail Her Lowness Magnolia, the Queen Mothwoman.

Long may she reign.”

– B.