Caricature

        Caricature was pretty sure she wan't supposed to exist. Her hide was stone and her bones were crystal, her teeth made of knives and her claws of steel. Her jaw scraped whenever she bit down, her skin clinked when she shifted. She did not need breath nor sleep, and had no fear of death. She was rock and metal given life, an inanimate object made living. But. But there was a part of her, a part that was once something living and breathing, or at least one facet of it. Her heart. It beat blood throughout crystal channels, red behind her eyes. It wasn't hers, though. She had been a amalgamation of materials, a statue carved by talented paws. Then, she was given someone's heart. She did not like to think of where the heart came from, nor why a creature such as her could have morals. She got...flashes, for lack of a better word, every now and then, of flying over oceans she had never been to, of playing with siblings she never had. Of a pearl, bright and luminous, held in the trusted claws of another. Cari mourned for her heart, who it had belonged to and who they had been, and for whatever they had become now. Still, all Cari does is sit in a room of finery and jewels, tasked with stopping all those who try to enter. She did not know who had tasked her this, nor why she did not leave. She would, one day, when she had the strength of will or whatever was necessary to escape. (She knew, instinctually, that there would be opposition if (Not if, never if, when) she tried to leave.) So, for now, she stayed a statue, waiting and mourning for days to come.