My name is Nova.
Right now I'm walking down Eastmarket Street in the lower ring.
The afternoon sun is warm on my face, the kind of golden that makes everything look like a painting.
On my left shoulder sits Sera.
My partner. My conscience. My emotional support murder-cat.
She's pure snow-white.
Right now she's curled up with her tail wrapped around my neck like a scarf, purring loud enough that people keep giving me weird looks.
I don't blame them.
A teenage boy with long silver-black hair in a high ponytail, girly face, big violet eyes, and a ancient relic almost as tall as I am slung across his back tends to attract attention. Add a smug-looking white cat riding him like a princess and yeah—people stare.
Sera yawns, showing tiny needle teeth, then butts her head under my chin.
I scratch behind her ear automatically.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm starving too."
My stomach chooses that exact moment to let out the loudest, most pathetic growl imaginable.
