Queen of Anything [Hope]

She would have started at the makeshift meteor, as quickly and loudly as it had landed and tore through the ground, if her entire being didn't hang in a hazy state of sheepishness. She felt as ephemeral as could be, made of nothing more than a fine mist composed of various drowsy emotions in the shape of a small black cat. She might have dawdled on the irony but the state of her thoughts reflected the state of her form and she found herself leaning down on the paws she had laid across the tabletop.

She watched like that, comedically canine, as a sprout sprouted and exploded into a tree that drew her eyes upwards and upwards and upwards. It soon dwarfed both her and her sitting place, her tiny muzzle parted in a gasp that would never quite sound. 'Oh.'  Was her only vocal reply, shifting to stand up on her hind legs in the chair and peer closer. The tree had wanted to grow, it seems, and grow it had.

She wondered if all desires could be that.

She wondered if hers could have been, if she had done it better.

Done them better.

She didn't get long to muse, even as her amber eyes held a warmth that didn't quite match up with the fire so normally sparked in them. It was much duller, much less content and playful. She had a serious air about her now, even if her diminutive body didn't pose much of a fiscal threat to anyone. No, she watched the shenanigans of life before her and mewled at the silence that was starting to constrict her. Only a moment, and it felt like eternity.

Pop, pop, went the corks, bounding against the table and bursting into a display that caused even her to rock back on her heels and fall back into the chair; her tail curled against her side, ears perked and attentive. She could see the last stopper and was ready for a similar event, the blades of grass whispering and bristling to reflect her curiosity and caution.

How cautious could one be, though, in such a dream?

Was that a quality she possessed, even here?

Was it necessary to always worry? Didn't it get tiresome?

When, as pampered as she had always wished to be, did she truly get to relax? When did the burning ever stop? When--

Squeaks were responded to with another mewl, softer this time, her bum planting itself firmly in her seat even as her tail crested her cheek. She stared back into the inquisitive eyes, head inclined ever so tightly to the side. Did she worry whether they were friend or foe? No, instead she turned into a cloud, wisps of such drifted off her fur as her now incorporeal form began floating into the air on her side. She seemed to be dozing, even as her gaze focused on the weasels. This is what she wanted, right? To be able to let her guard down?

What was she hoping for?

Respite?

Answers?

A reason?

A reason for what, she asked herself, the words forming like puffs of white smoke around her body. 'A reason for what?' She didn't need to speak them, not here, though the smoke soon dispersed and left her curled up mid-air. She was focused, mainly, on the antics of the weasels, a pang every time they disappeared--a fear they would not return, though they always did. Had she always been worried about people leaving?

Had anyone ever left?

Eventually they popped out for good, twisting out the cork that spilled out an undefined liquid into cups that seemingly came from nowhere. She was not surprised, as shock was not present in such a dream. Things happened as they happened, and things would always happen. The tree shrunk like a funhouse that was no longer needed, its bounce having been worn, performing mitosis as some point to create suitable seating arrangements for the two new arrivals.

Weasels, eyes of gold that reflected eyes of honey. 

She was rather fond of these weasels, but it was not a feeling she could quite understand.

What could she understand?

'Not herself', the grass parting behind her to spell out those words before everything moved back into its proper place. Did anything really have a proper place, though? Did the grass tell itself it belonged there just as she had told herself she belonged on top?

What was real, Schrödinger?

Where did the cat fit in to all of this?

They spoke in unison, the sound a pleasant break to her thoughts that so dangerously swayed between anxious disassociation and the relaxing sprawl she had been physically manifesting. She inclined her head in a nod to reply, even as the glass in front of her grew little legs and began to run up an invisible staircase to rest in front of her. She shifted her coiled form, grabbing both ends of the cup with her paw and pressing her muzzle to the rim. She took a sip. Cinnamon with vague hints of chocolate. Eggnog, maybe? Or was it hot chocolate, more iced than it was heated? It was a nice, welcome, comforting taste all the same.

'A pleasure?'  The Romana version floated out between her words, tufts of air from between her teeth that formed 'O placere?' for the eyes of the other guests.

'I'm alone.'  Was her simple reply, the sound sad but not infected with such; nothing more than a passing tone, figures blurring into shape around her, sitting in the grass.

Jian, Bertolt, Kionchi, Erasmus... various shapes, even people like Walkren, Shinkiro and Sobek among them. Not one of them looked in Cheshire's direction, and not a part of her blamed them, not in the way she would have kicked and screamed before.

'Why?'  Was her simple question, all of the images waving to the weasels before fading out once more. One of her legs slipped out and its claws pressed against the air, digging in before hitting a snag. They tore through it, teardrops falling from an invisible scar.

'Who are you?'

'Have you come to be friends?'