There was something strangely familiar with the owl-eyed little boy sitting on Prince's shoulders, as if in another life, he would have known the little one. Owlet, the youngster had introduced himself as, and Prince's lips had twitched at the very fitting name. But when he'd gone to give his own name - Prince - something had compelled him to hesitate. To remember a softer voice, calling his name, rousing him from a slumber he'd never wanted to rise from, because in his embrace he'd held a cat as dear to him as the moon was dear to the sun. So he'd given Owlet his other name. The one only she had ever called him. “Oliver.” Only after looking over his shoulder at the scrappy, scrawny boy multiple times did Oliver realize what had made him hesitate, and had made him blurt his other name, the one that felt almost sacred. It was Owlet's eyes; amber and glittering and filled with an inextinguishable fire and oh-so-familiar. They reminded him of a certain cat he'd never be able to forget - and the deja vu hit him harder than ever. He missed her. Missed her so much his heart throbbed with pain just to think about it. His Lark. His love, his life, the cat he'd spent his childhood with until her brother had one day told him she was gone, that she was dead. It had felt like such a miracle, later on, when Oliver had found her again, had found out Howler had lied, and they'd rebuilt their friendship until it'd... turned into something more. Somewhere along the way, their jokes and teasing had turned into flirting, playful on his end and hesitant on hers. Lark had never talked much about her other life, the one Wolf... no, Howler had dumped her in and lied about... (the reason behind this? to this day, it was still unclear to Oliver. each member of this family had their own conclusions, and there were enough misunderstandings and mistakes to span eternity.) Back when Oliver had been entertaining the idea of being something more with Lark, knowing that somehow it felt so right, he'd noticed she'd... been oblivious to his growing affections. Holding a candle for someone else, almost. The thought had gutted Oliver for a time, and he'd afterward tried to sequester away his feelings, pretending they weren't bursting out of his chest. He'd not wanted to alarm her, or make her feel like she was to pick between himself and... whoever it was she seemed to zone out and constantly think about. Only when Lark had seemed to come out of her grief-addled funk and tentatively begun to return his affections was it that Oliver professed himself to her. Out of begrudging respect for whoever was courting Lark, he hadn't want to impose on her if she'd already had a relationship in place, but Lark never brought it up again, so Oliver stopped trying to picture a cat pining after his love the way he did. (it was safe to say Oliver had already hated the idea of the guy, and he had only been a figment of his imagination.) In the end, that had been that. Oliver knew not a time (even to this day) that he'd been happier. His name was another matter - which was why Oliver adored and treasured it so. Prince had just been a generic name given to him by his upwalker owners when he'd been adopted alongside his sister, Princess. Prince had been a well-built shell, an exterior, a mask. Oliver had been so much more, someone he could truly be. Thoughtfulness incarnate, charming, witty, kind-hearted, and playful; his true self. Why all this lead-up, though? It was true, that in the end, that Oliver ultimately'd had to leave his darling. His sister (Princess) - who was no longer his sister, but instead his brother (and now named Oak, a helpless, declawed kittypet) - had apparently gotten catnapped, as Howler informed him one evening. Oliver had done what any brother would do. He'd rushed off to save his dear brother, and look where it'd gotten him. Stuck in this endless loop of carrying out supposedly oh-so-important orders that at risk of denying would result in his brother's demise. Howler had gotten Oliver stuck in this loop, because his brother was in a hostage situation, and damn them all to hell because all Oliver wanted to do was return to Lark and beg her forgiveness for leaving in the first place. Oliver kind of hated Howler now. And Oak, for this mess. And then he hated himself for hating his family. Lies. This family was a kingdom of cards built on lies. Kings, queens, jesters. Something had to fall sooner or later. But it was not so simple - if one were to merely cut off the head, there would still two more to rise in it's place. And over the moons he'd been away, Oliver hadn't receded back to the shell named Prince and become The Executioner for nothing. So Prince pushed away the burden clawing at his mind, shot Owlet a charming, winsome smile over his shoulder, and bounded forward, tone entirely business. “We'll find your grandmother yet, kiddo. She's gotta be around here somewhere.” It seemed Prince was finally to cross paths with his mother-in-law once more, so many moons later. Apparently, nothing had changed, and yet, so so much had. - The Executioner Prince
