Remy

Remy is a child prodigy in art.

He has won multiple awards for

his drawings that only consist of a

single, red, crayon. The crayon was given

to him by someone who's face he's forgotten.

The person came near him and his mother

while they were sleeping, softly waking the kit up.

He held out the crayon, beckoning Remy to take

it. The kit held out his paw and grasped the

crayon. The person took Remy's paw in their

claw-like hand and stained his fur with their horrid,

black aura. His darker paw is a constant reminder

of the feeling of dread when the person grabbed

him.

For some reason, the crayon will not get any

shorter. He doesn't question it because he's never

used any other crayons to compare it to. His

paint-splattered looking birth mark

on his eye is his trademark, which he cherishes.

Whenever he asks for criticism or advice on his

work he is always told that "It looks great!"

It may be a compliment to others, but to him...

it wounds him. He's always wondering what's wrong

with his art. Why won't anyone tell him advice?

Why doesn't he have anyone to lead him?

When he was a kit, he would show his mom his

drawings and she would always call them "perfect".

He didn't like that. What about it was perfect?

What do you mean perfect? He didn't understand.

He was confused, scared, his anxiety was getting

the best of him.

One day, he tried to use blue paint.

With a different tool than usual. A paintbrush.

It didn't work.The paintbrushes would dry

instantly, sometimes snap in his paw. He would get

art block on multiple occasions and only be able to

regain his abilities when he drew with the crayon.

He was walking over to get the paint and when he

picked it up, it felt like it was snatched out of his paws.

It landed safely on it's bottom but Remy lost balance

from the shock. He accidentally put his back leg into

the paint can. He was shocked and tried his best to

get it out of his fur with a nearby rag. The paint dried

around his foot quickly. Burying into his fur. He tried

to cut it out, bleach it, wet it, wash it, burn it, but

nothing would work. It was permanently on his foot. 

He doesn't know this but the person who gifted him

the crayon wants Remy to see this as a punishment

for trying to stray away from the destiny chosen

for him.

He hates himself for his bad luck and his constant

dissatisfaction. He doesn't want to be perfect if this

is what perfect is. He just wants to draw.