The black cat arrived on a windy Halloween night, the kind of night when the trees seemed to whisper secrets to the howling wind. The little girl sat on the edge of her attic bed, clutching a threadbare doll as the window rattled in its frame. A sharp gust pushed it open, and there, silhouetted against the eerie glow of the full moon, was the cat. Its sleek fur shimmered like liquid midnight, and its piercing green eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. The girl felt no fear, only a strange sense of recognition, as if she had been waiting for this moment. The cat leapt gracefully onto the windowsill, its gaze never leaving hers. As it padded softly into the room, the shadows seemed to recede, and the house fell silent, as though the very walls knew the bond between the girl and the creature was something ancient and unbreakable.
As the black cat nestled itself at the foot of the bed, its glowing eyes watching over the little girl, the wind outside seemed to quiet. The girl stroked its soft fur, sensing that this creature was more than it seemed. She didn’t know the word for it yet, but deep inside, she understood—the cat was her familiar, a protector tied to her growing powers. It seemed to whisper silent reassurances, its presence a balm against the heavy shadows that lingered in the house.
Downstairs, her mother paced the floor, her face twisted with jealousy and unease. She had seen the way her daughter could sense things no one else could, how the house itself seemed to bend to her will. The mother’s envy burned deep, stoked by the belief that the girl’s long, dark hair—flowing nearly to her waist—was the source of her strength. It reminded her of something otherworldly, something powerful, and she couldn’t stand it.
That night, while the little girl slept, her mother crept into the attic room, scissors glinting in the moonlight. The black cat hissed from its perch at the end of the bed, but the mother swatted it away, determined. She snipped away the dark locks until the girl’s hair lay in uneven tufts around her head. When the little girl awoke, the heavy weight of her hair was gone, replaced by a shocking lightness that made her heart race. She ran her fingers over her head and stared at the strands of hair scattered on the floor. Her mother stood nearby, arms crossed, a triumphant smirk on her face.
“There,” her mother said coldly. “No one will think you’re special now. You look like a boy, just like you should.”
The girl’s eyes filled with tears, but the black cat leapt onto her lap, purring softly. As the cat’s warmth spread through her, she felt a strange resolve rise within her. Her powers didn’t come from her hair—they were woven into her very being, connected to the house, the shadows, and now, the cat. Her mother’s jealousy had only stoked a fire she hadn’t known she possessed. For the first time, the little girl felt not just frightened, but angry. She locked eyes with her mother, a quiet defiance burning in her gaze, as if to say, You can’t take this from me.
Unbeknownst to her mother, cutting the girl’s hair had done nothing to weaken her—it had only made her stronger.
