"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The skunk morph let out a horrible scream that echoed through the hills; his eyes filled with tears and his heart heavy with betrayal.
This was not at all what he expected. Not at all what he was told. Everything was a lie. He had given these people his soul, and they had torn it to pieces. Now here he lay, and ugly twisted freak, alone and despised; ridiculed for what he was—which was no different than anyone else. Only he’d had the courage, or was it now naivety to share it.
He lay here now, on top of a large rock outcropping, overlooking the lake below, on his chest, with his muzzle buried in his forepaws, sobbing to himself, his tail flat between his legs, as lifeless as his shattered soul. What had he done to deserve this?
The sun shone brightly in the midday sky, casting it’s rays on his back, so that he could feel it’s warmth. A gentle wind blew in from the lake, carrying it’s sweet scent to him. That scent that reminded of earlier, more innocent days, where he would lay here carefree and at peace with the world. He could hear the pine and spruce trees around him, rustling gently in the warm summer breeze. Something that had always soothed him before and made him feel at home; yet now, nothing brought him any comfort. He was broken. His existence filled only with dispair.