Vex and Pickerel

Vex glared at the empty birdcage across the room. Her sleek black tail lashed. Her fur bristled.

For years, she’d been the only familiar of her witch, Pickerel. She had gathered frog legs, stolen mushrooms, spied on rivals — and now, Pickerel had the audacity to replace her?

Pickerel looked up from her spellbook, her black bangs peeking out from under an oversized hat glittering with jewels.

“What are you growling about, Vex?” she sighed.

“Oh, nothing,” said Vex dramatically. “Just reminiscing about all the good times we used to have. Before I was retired.”

“You’re not being retired,” Pickerel said, exasperated. “I told you — Cora isn’t a replacement—”

“Cora!?” Vex hissed. “You already named it!?”

“Vex,” Pickerel began, “she already had a name, I didn’t—”

But the cat was gone, slamming her door — as much as a cat can slam a door — behind her.

Meanwhile, in the bird shop, the raven named Cora could hardly contain her excitement. After years in that stinking cage, she was finally being adopted.

“Keep still,” muttered Spike, another raven. “You’ll mess up your feathers.”

Cora ignored him, fluffing her wings and dreaming of flight — unaware that somewhere, a furious black cat was plotting her doom.