Information

Mysh
Legacy Name: Mysh

The

Nostalgic Wyllop
Owner:

Sofie

Age: 9 years, 1 month, 1 week

Born: March 17th, 2015

Adopted: 9 years, 1 month, 1 week ago

Adopted: March 17th, 2015

Statistics

Level: 50
Strength: 111
Defense: 110
Speed: 110
Health: 110
HP: 110/110
Intelligence: 117
Books Read: 110
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Stylist

Mysh

The first time it happened he had been shivering under a threadbare blanket as he hunkered against the cold stone of a nameless building. He was too cold to sleep, and instead he had been watching a family of mice scurry back and forth across the small alley, each squeezing into a small crack in the stonework. He'd been mesmerised, watching as they disappeared into the bins and emerged with scraps of bread, one lucky mouse had even found a crumb of cheese, no bigger than Mysh's fingernail. His Papa had named him Mikhail, but everyone called him Misha; once his Mama had said he was her little bear and his Papa had laughed unkindly and said he was more like a little Mysh. A mouse. And here he was, no Mama, no Papa, cold, alone and very tired, looking at a family of mice. He'd squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push away the thoughts of his parents. He had been happy when his Papa went away to fight in that Great War, it meant he and Mama were safe from his tempers and could be happy. But then Papa didn't return, and the uprisings in Petrograd and Moscow made it seem like fighting would never stop. Food had become harder and harder to find and so Mama had sent him to Moscow, she had said she would follow, at meet him outside St Basil's Cathedral. Mysh had waited outside that vast and colourful building, the onion domes like great suns rising above him, and he waited, and waited. One day he had seen their neighbour and called out to her. She hadn't recognised him at first, but then she had thrown her arms around him and wept onto his shoulder. She didn't say anything about his Mama, but he stopped waiting outside St Basil's that day. Mysh watched the mice make a few more journeys across the street before returning to the hole in the wall. He imagined what it must be like in there, warm little bodies pressed up against each other as they enjoy their feast of stale bread and cheese. He closed his eyes and thought how cosy it must be, and how well they would sleep, tucked in together, their fur keeping them warm as they slept with full bellies. In a moment there was a sensation of falling, as if he had stepped off a great cliff, the world rose up above him and seemed to grow to unfathomable heights. No. No, the world wasn't getting bigger, it was him, he was getting smaller. Mysh screwed his eyes shut and tried to steady himself, he had nothing in his stomach to throw up, and yet the nausea was overwhelming. He covered his face with his hands and counted,
"One, two, three..."
He peered out from beneath his fingers and gasped. The world was still far too large and, stranger still, his hands had changed. His fingers were sharp and elongated, he looked down at himself, the threadbare clothes that he had worn that day his Mama sent him to Moscow were gone, instead his whole body was covered in brown fur. Something moved behind him and Mysh whipped around just in time to see a tail flit behind him. He moved again, and with growing terror realised that it was his own tail. Panicked he had shut his eyes and counted again, willing himself back to normal. For a moment he thought it might not work, and yet, a second later and with a strange 'pop' sound he was himself again, a dirty little besprizorniki. He stared at his hands, not trusting that his dirty fingernails were truly his. There was a small squeak and Mysh looked over towards the hole in the wall, a white mouse with long whiskers was stood at the entrance, a tiny piece of cheese in his pink claw. The mouse blinked at him and, unbelievably, waved the cheese before motioning towards the hole. Mysh nodded and the mouse twitched his nose in acknowledgement. Mysh shut his eyes...
"One, two, three..."