D̶e̶a̶r̶e̶s̶t̶ ̶M̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ Maplestar, I note that your letters have taken a long time to each me, for none were addressed with my name, s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ a sin that I will let slide under the great wave of wrongdoings that my siblings have already quoted. It has been many moons since I have seen your face, mother, though your name has been whispered well in the dark forest, where I reside now, a̶n̶d̶ ̶I̶ ̶b̶e̶l̶i̶e̶v̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ w̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶ ̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶d̶a̶y. Other voices have spoken, other claws inked parchment that has been delivered to you in the form of letters. They sing stories of vengeance, of dishonour and disgrace upon your name. Indeed, it has not been hard to keep an eye on you, Maplestar. It seems you have been very busy. Your letters are addressed to those you have wronged. Those you have loved, who have entered the dance of the dead at the consequences of your masquerade. So tell me, mother, why my name is not upon your list of sins. Tell me why I was left aside. You killed me long before MossClan’s death. s̶u̶r̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶d̶e̶s̶e̶r̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶a̶ ̶p̶l̶a̶c̶e̶?̶ But I sit back and observe your show, your masterpiece, your pantomime of unending life, and I pick up on details. I take a seat in the audience. Your little songbird. Always second-best. You told Serenade that he was the best runner in all the clans Long before you took the time to get to know me. You praised Charade on performing the show of a medic Long before you admitted your pride in me. And, when I had finally won your praise It was only to realise that you had forgotten me And replaced me with an army of broken children, bowing under a myriad of birch trees, staring through the darkness at the leader who would never help them. Who would ‘love’ them forever. Tell me, mother. Do the gods love us when they wipe out whole clans? Of course they do. Because their love is dangerous. And through some petrifying coincidence You have been cursed with a god’s sense of love. Which has been your making And your undoing. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶s̶o̶n̶g̶b̶i̶r̶d̶ Your songbird is dead. She died with FlurryClan. With Serenade. With Okra. With every loss that struck her weak heart into oblivion. I am not your songbird. My name is Cadenza. Not the name you gave me. The name I chose. I sing tales of vengeance, of destiny, and of destruction, and most of all, the thirst for power that drives through my blood. The one you created within me, when I was simply second best. When I was your little songbird, alive, well fed, and craving your attention. I do not pity the dead. I pity the living, who live without love. And you, Maplestar, mother of a long-dead clan, have lived a long time with an abundance of love. Which makes me pity you even more. I presume you will want to know me. Will want to know the being your songbird has become. I’m not going to give you that privilege. You’ll have to learn yourself. I will not deny that you are my mother, as others have done. To do that would be to deny my own existence. You are a villain, Maplestar. A̶n̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶u̶r̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶i̶n̶t̶o̶ ̶o̶n̶e̶ And I pity you. Because you are cursed And the gods don’t give up easily y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶s̶o̶n̶g̶b̶i̶r̶d̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶l̶o̶n̶g̶e̶r̶,̶ Cadenza I faithfully await your response
