Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
News & Updates
11.06.2022 The site has been transformed into an archive. Thank you for all the memories here!
Here on Classic we understand that sometimes life can get difficult and we struggle. We may need to receive advice, vent, know that we are not alone in our difficult times, or even just have someone listen to what's going on in our lives. In light of these times, we have created the support threads below that are open to all of our members at any time.
It made her feel sick to be back in her old home, the place she'd been born and the place she'd fled from when she'd been old enough to realise she had any semblance of free thought. She'd lived half her life letting others do whatever they wanted to her, letting herself be told where to go and who to be and how to look and what to say, letting herself be a silent little puppet that had no mind of her own and scarcely uttered a word. She'd let her father warp her mind, believed him and everyone else when they'd warned that the way she looked was bad, and wrong, and lesser-than - that she was worth less than everyone else, that she was dirt, that she was something to be hidden away and something to be secreted away beneath the floorboards and the charcoal. And she didn't mind. They were right. They were all lovely and beautiful and noble, and she was a sinner, worth about the same as the ants and the roaches. That was alright. That was just the way the world was. Nothing to be sad about! She had her riddles and her art, had all that beautiful, tragic poetry inside her head, and she didn't mind that sometimes she forgot to say a word at all for days and days and days.
But now, being here, all her old, quiet fears crept back up like soft, silent shadows. Hide away, little Eve, they're all going to catch up to you one day! Pretty little teeth going to tear you apart! She felt like she was a frail, frightened trainee again, coated in charcoal by her father so she wouldn't be seen for what she was. She still wore it now. No need anymore, but what's a ghost without something to be haunted by? Vespera crept lightly through the dead trees, keeping to the shadows with silent steps. When she could see the estate from the safety of the gloom, she sat down, tucking her tail tightly around her paws - a nervous little kithood habit that made her feel like someone was hugging her - and hummed quietly to herself as she waited to spot her father, her voice sweet and soft. She was shaking a little, but that was nothing unusual. She always trembled. She was always afraid. Alive as you but without breath, as cold in my life as in my death; always in shadow even at dawn, find her now before the next morn. The next riddle was starting to sound pretty enough. Soon she'd be able to use it on someone; soon she'd be able to show them the beauty of becoming a smear of paint in someone's art.
