Kularro, my most active side, is made so by the production of the pets pages on that account. That is to say, the characters on that account are perhaps most my notorious. Kularro is also my Premium alias, meaning I get (most) Premium features on that account as well as my main. On that account I am currently enrolled in Neopalette, an active artist guild for Neopounders. I typically log in every day to every other day for at least an hour, advertising for the beauty contest or chatting on the guild message board. The future pet line-up will (hopefully) be: Ayye, 'Feather', Sehu, and Ubuuroi: all boys, all antagonists. Ironic, no?

Flagge is still in the works. Flagge is my 'female pet' account, and as soon as I hoist up the boys' petpages, I'll move on to the girls'. I have yet to do some character development on all but Vihrea (and Quoxwood I suppose).

Heilde is sort of an everything-else purpose account. I log on a couple of times a week to re-arrange and update my wish list. Scullers and Moulders, for now, are extra petpages to either hold role-play character information, or applications and/or petpages.

The creature's story is tragic. More tragic than others some might say. But it all started in one place... in one commonplace. A Limited Edition Pet, or L.E.P., Mill. He was happy enough as a young Draik. He had food, he had a home... and most importantly of all, he had the best of friends. Day in and day out they stayed in their cage on the top shelf. Some days were boring, others could be fun. They loved to tell stories to one another; made up stories of course, none of them had ever been outside their pathetic living area.

In the mill the little pink Draik was known only as Feather. His chums Stripelegs and Roughskin called him that because of his beautiful pink feathers with the green and yellow tips around his head and on his wings. His best friend, Toughwing, wanted to call him Pinky. Feather didn't mind the feminine name but Stripelegs and Roughskin had laughed so hard the entire wall of cages rattled as they rolled and held their bellies. Pinky! Stripelegs exploded with giggles and fell onto his back.

Hey, watch it! a grouchy Krawk hissed from the cage below as he stuck his sharp claws through the bottom of their mesh cage. Toughwing and Roughskin dodged the ivory colored needles gingerly.

Knock it off, babies! An adolescent Cybunny was busy grooming her furry collar and looked clearly disturbed by the racket across the narrow aisle. Her floppy ears folded back in disgust, or maybe even jealousy. She was alone in her cage. Entirely alone. But Feather, oh, Feather was lucky enough to have three companions! Three best friends. Feather remembered early in their days, they promised that when they were all adopted and belonged to new families, they would ask their owners if they could all see each other. And so they would have a best-friend reunion when they were full grown. Feather could just imagine how huge Toughwing's wings would be by then. And Roughskin's little knobs of spikes he adorned now would grow into huge, glistening spears. And Stripelges would have millions of beautiful, pink and blue stripes all over his body like a Kougra.

Feather couldn't help growing a little jealous of Stripleges. While he himself was very colorful, no one quite compared to Stripelegs luxurious hues. The little feathered Draik's envy swelled even more when his plumes started dropping to the floor of the cage one week.

Feather, you're probably just molting. You know, when you lose your feathers and grow bigger feathers! Toughwing tried to console him.

Yeah Pinky, Stripelegs chimed in jokingly, no worries, you'll just be bald as Toughwing by the end of the month is all! He and Toughwing laughed at that. Feather's cheeks reddened and he ground his flat teeth together.

It was dinner time at the kennel. The mill runner had finished dishing out food to the cages across the aisle. Lutaris and Krawks greedily stuffed their faces, each munching on the same brand of kibble and scraps. Every time the man passed Feather's cage he paused to look at the pink Draik who looked back at him hungrily. But the mill runner's gaze sent shivers down Feather's little spine. He responded with a quick kick of scratching behind his ears or under his chin. With every scratch a foot-full of feathers pulled from his plumes and drifted to the floor of the cage. After, the mill runner would continue on feeding the other pets. Until he reached Feather's cage.

Toughwing!! Feather squealed the moment he saw the latex gloves open the cage. The mill never fed his stock with gloves: he only used them handle the ones that went into the back room.

Before the other three even had time to turn around, Feather was plucked from the cage. Stripelegs leaped after him but not soon enough. The cage door came crashing in, pinching one of Stripelegs' candy-striped paws. He let out a pathetic yelp and Toughwing quickly pulled him aside to the back of the cage. Feather watched as he was taken down the aisle to the point of no return: the back door. Only Roughskin was there at the front of the cage to wave Feather goodbye.

Toughwing, Feather cried out hoarsely but he knew his best friend couldn't hear him. Roughskin clung to the front of the cage and seemed to droop in his own depression. A twang of guilt plucked at his heart for teasing the other boys in the cage with scary stories about the back room. The mysterious back room: where the sickly-looking and downtrodden Neopets went... and never returned.

Don't you worry, Pinky, Feather's ears (if you could call them ears) perked up. He looked around for whoever was talking, but they were already heading through the back doorway. We'll take good care of you. It was the mill owner. He looked down at Feather and smiled almost sadly. Confused and feeling a little drowsy, Feather didn't bother to struggle as the large man shut the door behind them. As they walked down the skinny aisle in the second room that appeared identical to the first, Feather tried to catch a glimpse of the Neopets in their cages. But they were moving so quickly he never got a good look. All he could tell was that each Neopet had a cage all to himself. Feather thought that might be rather pleasant... until the man carrying Feather pushed past another back door.

The third room was slightly larger because there were no cages lined against the walls, except for a couple stacked in a corner. In the middle of the room were four small operating tables, big machines and tools on rolling tables. The mill runner stepped to the nearest table and chained Feather to it by the neck before the poor Draik knew what was coming. Feather sat, too afraid to move, too confused to call for help. He shivered a little. The table was cold.

I've heard about this place, a small voice invaded the room, sending off all of Feather's senses. His body went into code red and he scampered helplessly on the table, slipping on its shiny surface. Feathers flew everywhere. It's me! the voice came again, more distinguished. It was a girl's voice, a young girl. Feather's heart pounded in his tiny chest as he stopped thrashing. I'm over here, the voice whined sadly. Feather saw no one else in the room. His magnificent purple eyes scanned the walls and the floors until his gaze fell upon the stack of cages in the corner. A small, scaly, violet wing poked out from the darkness behind the bars of the topmost carrier.

Who are you? Feather asked breathlessly. The wing, though clearly an appendage for flight, looked more like a swollen hand; it had four distinct fingers and a thumb to grasp onto the gaping mesh of the cage door. Even Toughwing's wings couldn't do that.

My mom called me Annabelle, she squeaked, I don't know my full name. Withdrawing her hand-like wing, she pressed her round face against the door of her trap. She was certainly reptilian and almost looked a little bit like Toughwing... but she didn't have any ears. And instead of a normal body, she appeared to only have one long neck and tail. Feather had never seen anything quite like her. This is the bad place? Where bad pets go?

The chain around Feather's neck was terribly uncomfortable. More so because it was still pulled taught from when he freaked out. He lay down as to loosen the chain's grip a little, and also for a better view inside Annabelle's cage. This isn't a bad place, Feather replied, troubled. He loved living there, it was the only home he had ever known. Mom, you said? You had a mom? Was she anything like my mom? Feather's question was dearly sincere: he didn't remember his mother. All he knew was that she was in a different cage, in a different trailer, with all the other moms of the pets in the mill.

Annabelle looked concerned. No, my mom was human.

The pink, ragged Draik thought a moment. Human... his thoughts targeted on the unshaven face of the overweight mill owner. Oh, my mom's human too.

My mom says this is where pets go when they are bad. I didn't know I was being bad, she sniffled and coughed a little. She was about the same size as Feather and the rest of the gang, maybe a little older.

I've been here all my life, Feather offered gently, and I'm not bad... at least he didn't think he was. Why did your mom say those things?

I don't know! Annabelle was crying now, sobbing in fact. Two clear rivers of salty tears spilled down her round cheeks. My mom talked to a man outside-- (Outside'? thought Feather,) --and just GAVE me to him for a bag of neopoints in return! Annabelle absolutely wailed. She threw herself to the floor of her lonely trap and exploded into fits, banging against the wall of her cage with her muscular tail.

The back door opened, sending Feather's train of thought into panic. He scrambled on the table, strangling himself with the chain again. The mill owner rushed over, hushing him softly. Now, now Pinky, settle down, he loosened Feather's chain a bit so he had more room to move around, but was still limited to the table. Feather peered up at his captor with almond-shaped purple eyes. The man smiled down at him. Didn't mean for you to get sick too, buddy. Creases around the man's mouth melted his face into sorrow. We're going to get you all better now.

Feather wished he wouldn't the moment he saw the needle. How many injections he received, the Draik had absolutely no idea. But when it was all over, he felt dizzy and listless, numb at his hips from the punctures. And before he knew it, he had been stuffed back into a cage, very similar to his first one. But he was on the bottom row and his only companions were the stray feathers that littered the cold floor like soft snow. Pink snow.

But ohhh... how he itched!

It was a terrible, relentless itching that he'd subconsciously scratch at with his hind feet. The annoyance was significantly less important than the shedding of his beautiful feathers. He hadn't bothered to count how many times he scratched himself in the cage, in the laboratory, even when he was still with Toughwing and the others in the front room he scratched and scratched, kicking out plumes and downy. And all that scratching only made the itching worse.

The man returned every day to pluck Feather from his cage and feed him another slew of injections. Feather wasn't sure what the medicine was supposed to do for him because he felt no different after: just tired and woozy. His skin still itched all over and his feathers still fell out.

It wasn't long before the little Draik resigned from struggling. What was the point? He was totally and utterly bald. Not a feather to speak of. Ironically, no one called him Feather anymore. There was no one around to call him that. Only the mill owner talked to and about him, piddling around in the laboratory is he fished through boxes for the small vials of medicine to inject him with. Instead he was called Pinky. And Pinky greatly resented the humiliation.

Name: Inflicts
Moniker: Feather
Species: Draik
Gender: Male
Age: Six months
Post-Lifespan: 74 years
Brush: Tyrannian? Halloween? Plushie?
Skin: Dull, brown-pink
Eyes: Plastic, orange
Ears: Two thin stalks
Wings: Featherless
Figure: Stuffed
Tail: Short
Type: Taxidermy
Temperament: Confused, vengeful, detached
Faults: Featherless, ugly

But those were just stories. Children's nightmares used to scare each other during slumber parties and camping trips. The sensible, reasonable adults knew for a fact that Mr. Larrimoor, the old mill owner still lived in that house... or at least it appeared so. He'd be reaching 100 soon, if that really was him behind those walls... No one could say for sure. He never came in. And he never went out. But every now and then a porch light would flicker on, and the front door stood open invitingly--just as it did now. A sweet aroma wafted from the doorway. Cookies, home-baked cookies... the tantalizing odor dominated the street and sidewalk. But they didn't smell quite right... perhaps a secret ingredient was added? More baking soda? Hazelnuts? Something. Whatever it was, the smell stuck to the back of the throat. It tasted like formaldehyde.