Chapter Text
Adora’s world was dark.
Not that she could even comprehend the concept of darkness, or light, or the vast emptiness of the void. There were no words in the quiet of her mind, no shapes to cling to, and no history to remember. For now Adora was a blank slate floating in a warm, weightless abyss, where all she felt were fleeting, fragmented sensations. The rhythmic, distant thump of a steady pulse, the gentle sway of fluid, and a profound impression of safety. She was a soul suspended between two lives, the echoes of Etheria fading but not lost, leaving only the raw essence of who she truly was.
She tried to move, driven by an instinct older than her current form, but her body wouldn’t respond. The limbs she felt were heavy, unformed, and unresponsive. Strangely, that didn't bother her. There was no panic in this peaceful cocoon, just warmth and comfort. So she yielded to the heavy pull of the dark and slept.
Adora didn’t know for how long the slumber lasted, unable to tell the difference between the waking world and her dreamless sleep, thus making the tracking of time impossible.
Then came a day when the fog in her mind cleared just enough for action. The connection between her will and her physical form solidified. Gathering her strength, she kicked out with a leg.
It was a sharp, sudden motion, and it felt magnificent. The confined world around her wiggled and shifted in immediate response to her abrupt action. It was also accompanied by a voice, a muffled sound, filtering from beyond Adora’s perception. But even muted it carried a melody of pure, unconditional affection. Adora couldn't understand the syllables or the language, but the emotional reaction resonated deep within her core. It made her happy. It made her feel alive.
So she kicked with her leg again, harder this time.
The voice responded instantly, slightly higher in pitch, and this time it was accompanied by the sensation of a comforting, external presence. Warmth pressed against the boundary of her small universe, right where her foot had landed.
From that moment on, whenever Adora was awake, she kicked. It became her first conscious act, her first declaration of existence to an unknown world. To her delight the voice always answered. Sometimes with soft laughter or low, rumbling hums. Other times the voice would whisper soothing, tired cadences to calm her down. But Adora was always happy to hear it. An anchor reassuring her she wasn’t alone.
So she kept kicking, a little soldier in the dark, practicing for a world she couldn't yet see.
Day after day, as her world became smaller and tighter, until she could hardly move. But then everything changed.
The walls of her safe haven shuddered. The fluid shifted violently, and the world shook, squeezing in around her with sudden, terrifying force. The pressure was immense, crushing her from all sides, demanding she leave her precious sanctuary. Adora tried to cry out, feeling panic again for the first time, but she couldn’t make a sound.
Then an abrupt rush of motion propelled her forward. The suffocating force gave way to an explosion of blinding, agonizing brilliance. The cold air hit her skin like a physical blow, as something large, solid, and unfamiliar grabbed her, lifting her into the open air.
This time when she cried, there was sound. A loud, piercing wail tore from her throat, filling the bright, vast room. She was terrified, overwhelmed by the sensory onslaught of this new reality, her tiny fists flailing against the empty air. But then over the noise of the strange surroundings, and the beating of her own frantic heart, she heard the voice.
It wasn't muffled anymore. It was clear, rich, and laced with exhausted relief. The moment she recognised it Adora knew, with the absolute certainty, that this voice meant comfort, it meant home.
And so, Adora stopped crying. She blinked through the blur of tears and harsh light, searching for the voice’s owner.
***
Amy Randor looked down at her baby daughter, eyes brimming with a mixture of profound fatigue and overwhelming love.
Throughout the gruelling months of pregnancy she’d refer to the baby as her little fighter. Laughing with her husband every single time a sudden, forceful kick was felt against her stomach. During the various check-ups, doctors and nurses had joked that she was carrying a footballer or dancer.
By Amy’s side her husband, Tim, leaned over the hospital bed. He was staring in awe at the tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“She’s adorable” he sobbed, voice cracking as he reached out with a hesitant, trembling finger to touch their baby's impossibly small hand.
Amy couldn’t have said it better herself. She looked at the tuft of fine, golden, blonde hair atop the baby’s head, the colour clear even now.
“Adora” Amy whispered, the name slipping from her lips. It felt right, as if it was the only name that would ever fit her.
In response the baby wiggled in her blanket and she looked up. Wide, strikingly brilliant blue eyes locked directly onto Amy’s face. The gaze was intense, and startlingly focused for a babe only minutes old.
Amy could’ve sworn that her daughter had reacting to hearing the name.
“Hello, Adora” she cooed, shifting the bundle closer to her breast.
Adora’s lips parted, her cheeks puffing out as she let out a tiny, gummy smile. Amy’s heart skipped a beat, warmth spreading through her chest that drove away the lingering aches of labour.
“I think she likes the name” Tim commented, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He leaned down further, his face full of wonder, “Do you Adora? Do you like your name?”
Adora shifted, trying to turn her head toward the sound of his voice, her blue eyes scanning the new space. Seeing the silent plea for connection, Amy gently passed the baby over to Tim. He took her with practiced caution, cradling her head against his broad chest, holding her as if she were made of the finest glass.
“Hello Adora. I’m your Daddy” he said softly, his voice pitching upwards with delight.
The baby let out a small, contented gurgle, kicking her legs beneath the blanket, which made Tim grin like an absolute idiot.
“She’s perfect” he smiled, looking at his wife.
“She is” Amy agreed, her eyes heavy.
The sheer exhaustion of the birth finally caught up with her, pulling at her eyelids like lead weights. She felt herself slipping away, falling into a deep, well-deserved sleep.
“Get some rest dear. Me and Adora will be right here when you wake up” Tim promised, rocking the tiny girl gently as she drifted off.
***
When Tim Randor finally brought his wife and daughter home to their modest house in Oxford, he’d been bracing himself for the legendary horrors of first time parenthood. He made sure to stock up on coffee, fully prepared for endless, pacing nights, and the shattering of their regular routine.
But his perfect Adora was bafflingly, beautifully consistent.
Like clockwork, she would take a feed at 10 PM, drift off without a fuss, and wake precisely at 2 AM for another bottle before sleeping soundly until 6 AM. There were no midnight hysterics, no hours of unexplainable colic.
The other new parents in their neighbourhood were all desperately jealous, regaling Tim at the local Sainsbury’s with harrowing tales of bedtime screams, sleep deprivation, and inconsolable babes. Tim would just smile politely, hiding the fact that he felt entirely rested.
By the time she was half a year old, Adora could go six hours straight without waking and possessed an uncanny, almost disciplined internal rhythm.
It helped immensely that she always made sure he and Amy knew exactly what she needed. She didn't just cry aimlessly, she communicated. Feeding, sleeping, changing, or playing. Adora had a distinct, specific sound for each. A short, sharp yip meant a dirty nappy. A low, rolling hum meant she was fighting sleep. The play sound, in particular, always brought an immense amount of joy to Tim's heart. It was a bright, bubbling noise that almost sounded like laughter.
One rainy afternoon, she made that exact noise. So Tim smiled, set aside the paperwork from his ongoing case, and picked her up. After adjusting her weight onto his hip, he walked over to the bookshelf for story time. He quickly chose The Very Hungry Caterpillar. It was a personal favourite, his own mother having read to him when he was a boy.
Sitting in the armchair, Tim opened the bright pages and started reading. He was halfway through the tale, pointing at the holes in the printed fruits, when Adora surprised him.
She reached out with a chubby hand, slapping it down onto the beloved book. Yet her focus wasn’t on the brightly coloured illustrations, but the printed words. One in particular held her undivided attention, as she traced the first few letters with a tiny finger, face pouting with intense concentration.
“Cat” she declared, her voice was small, but clear.
Tim froze, the book slipping slightly in his grip as he looked down at his nine month old daughter, “Adora did you just say Cat?”
Adora looked up at him, her bright blue eyes shining with absolute certainty, “Cat” she happily repeated, nodding her head with a force that nearly toppled her over.
Tim’s heart leapt into his throat. He abandoned the story, scrambled out of his chair, and ran straight through the hallway into the kitchen.
“Her first word” he cried, bursting through the door.
Amy looked up from the sink, hands still covered in soapy dishwater, as a delighted expression instantly took over her face, “Really? What did she say?”
Tim held Adora out proudly, like a prized trophy, “Come on tell Mummy what you said. Show her how clever you are”
Adora blinked at the sudden pressure, then looked at Amy’s encouraging face, “Cat” she squeaked.
Amy clapped her wet hands together, spraying a few bubbles into the air, and rushed over to press a fierce kiss onto Adora’s warm cheek, “My clever girl” she praised, “Can you try and say Mum for me?”
Adora blinked, her little brow furrowing in deep deliberation, “M...Mu...Mum”
“That’s right” Amy beamed, her eyes sparkling with utter glee.
“Mum” Adora said, this time with far more confidence, a proud grin breaking across her face.
Tim spun her around in his arms, laughing out loud, “Can you say Dad? Come on give it a go sweetheart”
“D...Da...Dad” she replied, reaching out to pat his nose.
Tim cried actual tears of happiness right there in the kitchen, his Adora really was perfect.
***
A few weeks later Adora was sat on the living room rug, staring intently across the expanse of the carpet at her absolute favourite toy.
It was a fluffy, stuffed cat with mismatched buttons for eyes. One blue and the other one yellow. Her mum had found at a local charity shop and seeing Adora’s fascination with it, purchased it immediately. Since then she hated to be apart from it. If it was misplaced she wouldn't cry, but instead sat silently, brooding with a fierce, stubborn annoyance until it was returned.
Adora didn’t know why the toy was so profoundly important to her. She just knew that holding it filled a strange, longing ache inside her chest.
However the toy was currently over by the television stand, and she was stuck on the opposite side of the room. She wanted it, but doggedly refused to wail for her parent’s assistance.
Bracing her small hands against the floor, she tried getting to her feet. Adora pushed up, balancing on her tiny, unstable legs for a brief, glorious second. Before her balance failed, and all she managed to do was fall forward, landing with a soft thud on her stomach.
But Adora didn’t cry, she just let out a frustrated huff, while frowning and clenching her little fists.
Giving up on standing for the moment, she kicked out aggressively with her legs, her feet catching on the carpet and propelling her slightly forwards. She’d only moved a few inches, but for Adora it felt like miles.
A spark of determination ignited in her eyes. She kicked again, driving her knees forward, and reached out with both hands, dragging her body across the floor in a highly uncoordinated crawl. One that slowly transitioned into something far more efficient, as her arms and legs began working together in concert.
Babbling with pure excitement, a string of nonsense syllables that poured from her lips, she crossed the remaining distance of the room. Reaching her target, she grabbed the fluffy cat by its worn tail, and pulled it into her chest. Holding her prize close and burying her face in its synthetic fur, it brought her an immediate sense of soothing comfort and warmth that settled her racing heart.
But even as she hugged it, Adora felt a lingering phantom sensation, as if something vital, something alive, was still missing.
***
Amy watched with a sense of pride from the kitchen doorway as her daughter took her actual first steps. It’d only been ten months since her birth, and yet Adora was already abandoning crawling, in favour of standing tall on her own two feet. Amy noted she was developing at an impressive speed.
Adora took three wobbling steps forward with her arms out for balance, before stumbling over to Tim, who was waiting on his knees. He snatched her up into the air the moment she reached his hands, spinning her around with a triumphant shout.
“Who’s my perfect girl?” he beamed, tossing her slightly.
“Me” Adora squeaked, laughing hysterically.
Seeing the identical, goofy looks on both of their faces made Amy smile, but a small, quiet part of her couldn't help but wonder. Why was her daughter developing so quickly? The other mothers in the neonatal and toddler classes Amy attended were still dealing with babies who could barely manage a clumsy crawl, and who communicated entirely in tears and pointing. Yet here was Adora already walking with purpose, speaking clear words, and displaying an unnatural amount of physical coordination. It was brilliant, but it was also slightly unnerving.
Tim set the toddler back down on her feet, and the moment her dinky shoes hit the floor, she came toddling over to her.
“Mummy” Adora cried with her arms wide open.
Amy pushed her worries aside, kneeling down onto the carpet. Her daughter threw herself into her arms with surprising force, nearly knocking Amy off balance. Pressing a soft kiss onto the girl’s thick, blonde hair, Amy looked down at her and wondered what the future could possibly hold for her extraordinary little fighter.
***
Tim carefully lit the single, colourful candle sitting atop the Victoria sponge cake.
Adora’s first birthday had arrived with astonishing speed, and their small semi-detached house was absolutely packed to the brim with family members who’d travelled from all over to see his perfect girl. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, and a loud assortment of cousins were all crowded into the living room, taking turns bending down to fuss over her, pinching her cheeks and offering brightly wrapped boxes.
Adora didn’t seem to like the attention at first. She’d retreated to the corner of the sofa, clutching her mismatched toy cat tight against her chest like a shield, her blue eyes wary of the crowd.
But now, as the party wore on, her natural confidence had returned in spades. She was actively walking around the room, pointing at people and trying her absolute best to learn and say everyone’s names. It made Tim’s chest swell with an almost painful amount of pride.
Grabbing the now glowing cake from the kitchen counter, he walked steadily over to the dining table. The moment the light of the candle flickered around the room, the family fell into a synchronized chorus, their voices lifting together.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Adora, happy birthday to you”
To Tim’s absolute surprise, the moment the song ended, Adora didn't wait for help or instruction. She leaned onto the table, puffed out her chest, and blew out the candle with a single, sharp breath.
The family erupted into loud applause and laughter, charmed by her independence. Adora gave them a massive, triumphant smile, throwing her hands in the air.
As Tim leaned down to cut the cake and saw the bright spark in his daughter's eyes, he began to wonder if Adora, in her own mysterious way, also knew to make a wish.
***
Three years passed in a blur of scraped knees, colourful cartoons, and an insatiable appetite for playing in the Randor’s modest garden.
Adora took a deep breath and blew out the four candles on her birthday cake. The moment the flames died, she closed her eyes tight and made the exact same wish she’d made last year, and the two years before that.
‘I want to find my Cat’
She knew, as she grew older, that it was a strange wish to make. Since by ‘my Cat’, she didn’t mean her stuffed toy, which was now missing an ear and thoroughly faded. Nor did she mean a normal pet, such as the sleek black shorthair that the neighbours had.
She meant her Cat. The one she knew was missing from her life and it bothered her greatly.
In the quiet moments before sleep, Adora could see her clearly in her mind. The girl had big, wild, fluffy brown hair and striking, mismatched eyes. One a soft, teal blue, the other a sharp, electric yellow.
Whenever Adora thought about those eyes, a strange, overwhelming cocktail of emotions would swirl in her stomach. She felt happy, fiercely protective, deeply sad, and a dozen other things she didn't yet have the words to describe. Mostly it reminded her of the love she felt for her Mum and Dad, but it was different somehow, both deeper and more desperate.
Her parents said she was going to start First School in September and a secret, hopeful part of her wondered if her Cat would be there, waiting on the playground with her bushy hair and enthralling eyes.
***
Hermione Granger was incredibly, painfully nervous about her first day of school. She stood by the large gates, clutching her Mother’s hand so tightly her knuckles were turning white.
What if the other children were mean to her? What if they laughed at the way she talked, or the fact that her front teeth were a bit too large? What if she couldn't make a single friend?
But her father had promised that First School was a magical place with a massive library and endless books to discover. As well as teachers whose lessons would fill Hermione’s mind with all the facts and knowledge she could ever want.
So she swallowed the lump in her throat, keeping close to her Mother as they navigated the courtyard. All around them older children were running wild, screaming, laughing, and playing all manner of games. Hermione hated the noise, it felt chaotic and overwhelming.
“Time to let go honey” Jean said gently, squeezing her hand before trying to pull away.
“I don’t want to go” Hermione whined, her voice small and trembling as she looked up at her mother with wide, pleading eyes.
“Now Hermione, you need to be a good girl” Jean said, her tone shifting into her firm dentist authority, “And you’re going to learn so many wonderful things today”
Hermione felt the hot prickle of tears behind her eyes, but she swallowed them down. She didn't want to disappoint her parents, “Okay, I promise I’ll be good”
“I know you will and I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends” Jean smiled, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
Reluctantly letting go of her mother's hand Hermione turned and nervously walked across the schoolyard. She was soon pushing open the sticker covered, wooden door leading to the reception classroom.
The room was bright, covered in colourful posters displaying various animals as well as the letters of the alphabet. Some children were already sitting quietly at small circular tables, while a larger, louder group was huddled by the toy box, fighting over plastic blocks. Hermione just stood near the coat pegs, her backpack heavy on her shoulders, completely unsure what to do or where to go.
Then from the far side of the classroom, a girl with bright blonde hair tied back in a neat ponytail looked up. The moment her blue eyes locked onto Hermione, the girl’s face transformed into an expression of shock. She stood up so fast she nearly knocked her plastic chair backward and came running straight over.
She stopped right in front of Hermione, chest heaving, scanning Hermione's bushy, unruly brown hair with desperate intensity, “Cat?” the blonde girl asked her voice breathless and hopeful.
Hermione’s nerves instantly vanished, replaced by a sharp flash of irritation. She crossed her arms feeling defensive and insulted, “I’m not a cat. My name is Hermione” she snapped.
The blonde girl blinked, the excitement fading into a profound, crushing sadness that made Hermione instantly regret her harsh tone.
“Sorry, I thought you were someone else” the girl explained quietly, rubbing the back of her neck and biting her lip. Then she looked back up, giving Hermione as small, but polite smile, “I’m Adora by the way”
Hermione felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, “Oh um, well that’s okay, hello Adora”
The teacher then clapped her hands together to get everyone's attention, preventing Hermione from apologising anymore to Adora. The children were directed to come and sit down on the large, bright carpet to start the morning lessons.
As the day progressed, Hermione found herself thoroughly unimpressed by the majority of her peers. When the teacher held up flashcards, hardly any of the other children knew their numbers or their letters. They just shrugged, giggled, or guessed wildly.
But Adora knew every single one. She answered with confidence, with no hesitation in her voice, but Hermione noticed her eyes kept drifting over to her side of the carpet.
When break time finally arrived, the children desperately poured out into the playground. Hermione watched from the safety of a wooden bench as Adora instantly became the centre of attention. The blonde girl was astonishingly fast, sprinting across the tarmac and ascending the metal climbing frame with ease. All the other children, captivated by her energy, wanted to play tag with her.
It made Hermione feel a cold, bitter pang of jealousy in her chest. She wasn't fast, she wasn't athletic, and would probably just embarrass herself trying to play with them.
So when they were called back inside for reading time, Hermione decided to isolated herself. After taking a copy of The Gruffalo from the shelf she marched over to the furthest corner of the classroom and slumped onto a beanbag, determined to be as alone as possible.
Unfortunately her plan was ruined as a shadow fell over her page. Hermione looked up, ready to dismiss the intrusion, but found Adora standing there holding a book of her own.
“Can we read together?” Adora asked, pointing to the empty space on the beanbag.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, defensive walls snapping into place, “Why?”
“I like that book, and I want to be your friend” Adora beamed, her smile bright and entirely without malice.
Hermione blinked, thrown off by the absolute bluntness of the statement, “Why?” she repeated, her voice softer this time.
“Because you’re smart” Adora simply explained, as if it was an undisputed fact, “And you’re pretty and you actually listen to the teacher”
Hermione’s chest tightened, a new wave of guilt washing over her for having been so jealous of the girl outside. Nobody had ever called her smart or pretty before, let alone a girl who everyone else wanted to play with.
“Oh” Hermione shyly replied, her cheeks turning pink as she looked down at the cover of her book, “Okay I’d like to be your friend too”
“Great” Adora grinned.
She dropped onto the beanbag, leaning her shoulder against Hermione’s, the unexpected contact making her gasp and blush. She opened the book, clearing her throat to hide her nerves, and they began to take turns reading out the pages. When they finished The Gruffalo, Adora opened her book so they could continue. Then when that one was finished, eagerly ran over to grab another. They sat tucked away in that corner for the remainder of the afternoon, their voices murmuring in a quiet, alternating sentences.
As the day wore on Hermione found she couldn't wait to run out of the gates and tell her mother all about her new friend.
***
Amy Randor and Jean Granger reclined in their striped deckchairs, enjoying the glittering expanse of the British coastline. It was a beautiful summer’s day and both families had come out to enjoy the sun. Nearby, under their watchful eyes, Adora and Hermione were playing happily in the golden sand. They were fully engrossed in constructing a massive sandcastle, complete with moat and multiple towers.
The two girls had been inseparable since their first day of Reception class and so over time, the Randors and the Grangers had naturally drifted closer. No longer polite acquaintances waiting outside the school gates, but an extended family, that shared holidays, weekend barbecues, and chaotic day trips together.
“Have you decided on a High school for Adora yet?” Jean asked, “The deadlines for the applications are coming up fast”
“Not yet” Amy sighed, turning her head to watch the girls, “Is Hermione still completely set on Oxford High?”
“Oh absolutely” Jean explained, a proud but slightly exhausted smile touching her lips, “She came top of the class in her exams again last year, so the headmistress assures us she’ll be accepted without issue”
“Then I’m certain Adora will want to go with her” Amy replied, shaking her head with a chuckle, “Where Hermione goes, Adora follows. Or rather, Adora goes ahead to clear the path and Hermione runs after her with the map”
She looked back over the sand to their two girls. Adora, now ten years old and tall for her age, was barking out playful orders, using a plastic spade like a broadsword to defend their sandy fortress from the incoming tide. Hermione was sitting safely by the battlements, meticulously organizing seashells by size and colour to reinforce the walls.
“I can’t believe Adora is still in her Princess phase” Jean said with a smile, clearly amused by the dramatic stance Adora was making.
“Oh God yes” Amy laughed, “Always the Princess, never the Queen, even though she insists on having a sword like a Prince so she can fight monsters. We went to the castle last month and I had to drag her away from the gift shop before she could spot the replicas”
“Well we definitely have to take the girls to Disneyland Paris when it opens” Jean stated.
“Absolutely” Amy agreed.
Their conversation was interrupted by the crunch of footsteps on the shingle. Tim Randor and Richard Granger came walking over from the nearby cafe, carrying a cardboard tray filled with steaming paper cups of tea and coffee.
“Are the girls having fun down there?” Richard checked, handing a latte to his wife before adjusting his sunglasses.
“Oh yes” Jean replied, taking the drink gratefully, “They’re currently fortifying the coast”
Tim sat down on the sand next to Amy’s deckchair, looking out at the girls with a massive, fond grin, “Ha, well I’m sure Princess Adora will save Princess Hermione from the evil sea monster horde again”
“As if you don’t enjoy being King Randor when she ropes you into playing along” Amy returned, nudging his shoulder with her elbow.
Tim chuckled, not even attempting to deny it. The four parents shared a warm, easy laugh, the sound drifting over the breeze down to the water, where their daughters continued to play, completely lost in a world of their own making.
***
On the morning of her eleventh birthday, Adora Randor received a very strange, entirely impossible piece of post.
It hadn't been delivered through the letterbox by the postman. Instead as her Dad left for work, a barn owl had dropped it into his hands the moment he stepped outside.
The envelope was made of heavy, thick yellowish parchment, entirely unlike the crisp white paper of the normal post. Written in a sweeping, green ink, the address was unnervingly precise:
Miss A. Randor
The Front Bedroom
18 Nestor Road
Oxford
Oxfordshire
It was a formal letter of acceptance to a place called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
On that ordinary Tuesday morning, surrounded by the smell of toast and birthday balloons, Adora officially learned that magic was real. But as she stared at the heavy red wax seal stamped with a crest of a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake, she realized something profound. Somehow, in the deepest, quietest parts of her mind, she’d always known that magic was real.
For as long as she could remember, her dreams hadn't been normal. They were nothing like her classmates, who dreamt of school tests or flying without wings. In her sleep, she saw a magnificent horse with rainbow wings that soared through violet skies. She saw brilliant, sparkling princesses who commanded ice, plants and water. And, most importantly, she saw her Cat.
Over the years, as she grew from a child into a young girl, the blurry images in her mind had gotten clearer, slowly sharpening into focus. She now knew, with absolute certainty, that her Cat also possessed large, feline ears and a long, furry tail.
Adora also knew she was deeply in love with her. It was a fierce, protective, all-consuming sort of love, and it’d confused her terribly. In all the storybooks, the films, and the whispered gossip of the school playground, it was always a boy and a girl who fell in love and got married. But whenever Adora pictured her future, she only ever saw those mismatched blue and yellow eyes looking back at her.
Unfortunately, no one in the real world looked remotely like her Cat.
When Adora was eight, she’d finally gathered the courage to ask her Mum and Dad if it was possible for people to be born with furry, pointed cat ears or a long, expressive tail. They’d both politely assured her that human biology didn't work that way, and that cat girls didn’t exist outside of her Saturday morning cartoons.
But holding the heavy parchment letter in her hands, watching the emerald ink shimmer under the kitchen light, a new spark of hope ignited in Adora's chest. If magic was real, if there was an entire hidden world of witches, wizards, and impossible things right under their noses, then maybe her Cat was real too. Maybe she was magical. Maybe she was out there somewhere, waiting for a similar letter.
That evening, the family gathered around the dining table. Tim carried out a massive birthday cake, the eleven candles casting a warm, dancing glow over the room.
“Make a wish, Adora” Amy whispered softly, leaning over her shoulder.
Adora looked at the flickering flames. She took a deep, steady breath, closed her eyes tight, and made the exact same wish she’d made over the last decade, louder and fiercer than she ever had before.
‘Please, I want to find my Cat’
She blew out the candles, and the smoke curled up into the air marking both her eleventh birthday and the start of her magical journey.