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Feral loves his husband.
Feral also longs to see his husband again.
To Feral, Fantu was the most beautiful creature to ever walk this planet. He made him so happy, Feral wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his afterlife with this lovely puppet.
And then it happened.
He doesn’t even remember it happening, all he knows is that he was here one day and the next? Gone. Gone at the hands of a monster.
“I miss my husband.” The owl sniffled, staring at the pile of ribs he had accumulated. They were all human ribs named Fantucciu, along with whatever number he was on at that point. They were his prized possessions.
Feral always felt like he needed to be positive. If he was sad for too long he felt useless. He needed to make others happy, but sometimes he couldn’t. Sometimes, he was too grief stricken, too hopeless, too.. just.. sad to even want to bother.
“Why does that monster still get to have his husband?” He mumbled as he picked up the first ever Fantucciu rib he had collected in his mouth and dragged his lanky frame to the Safety Corner where he’d left his blanket (again).
He wrapped the blanket around himself, repeatedly telling himself that everything would be okay. More often than not, he would just tell himself that it would be okay and that he was still slaying, he would lie to himself in hopes of making the pain go away. He told himself that maybe, just maybe, if he did enough funny things, if he pretended hard enough, if he could push through it moderately well, then everything would be okay. It wasn’t true, was it though?
No.
No, not at all.
He still sat in the corner, quietly sobbing, mumbling incoherently to himself about how he was still slaying, and holding the rib in his mouth as if letting go would make it disappear.
Just like his beloved thespian.