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Pet Name: Abulia
I watched the rain pitter-patter outside my window and sighed. It had been three weeks since I had been painted into royalty, and I couldn't seem to fit in anywhere. Sure, my swirled fins and golden tiara were beautiful, and I wouldn't change them for the world, but my new place in aristocracy was tenuous at best. "New money," the other royal pets would whisper as they walked by our terrace in the heart of Altador. Not that I'd want to associate with most of them. Their complex rules of etiquette and left-handed compliments weren't attributes I valued in friends. All I had was my family and my music, but even my songwriting was failing me. The rest of the family was always better than me at playing instruments; even the petpets in our house were more talented. Which brings me back to the rain. The whole world seemed to exist in shades of grey. I almost didn't see the grey jetsam camouflaged in the continuing torrents.
But there he was. I couldn't tell if it was the rain or tears streaming down his face, but he was alone; that much was certain. I knew who he was. I could still hear the other royal pets gossiping about him in the gardens.
"The poor dear doesn't know his place. I hear he had a friend who was recently painted royal. Silly creature, he thinks she'll still want to associate with him now."
I had tried to speak with him before, but he wasn't interested. He thought I was just another silly princess. As I observed him through the glass I felt something new; a spark of inspiration. This was exactly what I needed. I took out my guitar and a notebook and began to write. The words came easily, as if they’d been waiting on the tip of my mind but hadn’t seen an opportunity to sing until now. I practiced for hours, wanting to make it perfect.
It had been two sunny weeks since I'd seen the jetsam. But the rain had returned today, and he was back. This time, I was ready for him. I opened the window and began to play. The words came easily, and my voice carried out to the square, where the scrawny jetsam wept. But then he stopped. Looking at her window, he wiped his eyes and sniffed once. I smiled at him, and he approached the window.
"I've never heard of royalty playing instruments before. Or doing anything - well - interesting. No offense."
I laughed. "None taken. And you're right. Royalty doesn't do much of anything at all."
A small smile played across his face. “I guess you’re not all the same. I had a friend who was painted royal. We used to play music, but now she won’t dare come near me. I guess I’m just a commoner to her now.” He looked down at his tail.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But, you know, you can always come here and play with me if you like. We always have extra instruments and, well, I don’t really fit in with the aristocrats, so I could use the company.”
He thought this over for a moment and nodded.
“Okay. I’d like that. What’s your name?”
I smiled. “Abulia.”
“Abulia.” He paused. “Thank you.” He turned to leave, but stopped himself. “You’ve been so nice to me. I want everyone to know about your kindness.” I protested, but he insisted, and so here I am, telling you my story. The song reminds us every day of our friendship, and the withering stares of the other royals no longer bother me.
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