Dark Forest Resident: Hillminnow
Aliases/Nicknames: Vengeful Molly, Whiskers, Whisker Collector, Filamentor
Gender: she-cat
Sexuality: homosexual
Family: unnamed mother, Olivestrike (father), Volekit (brother), unnamed half-sister
Other Relations: Ravenfeather (mentor, uncle)
Clan: Riverclan
Rank: warrior
Characteristics: kills as revenge, kills out of hatred for the other gender
Number of Victims: 11
Number of Murders: 10
Murder Method: breaking jaws onto stone
Known Victims: Olivestrike, Ryestump, Reedslip, Leafstone, Shrewsheep, several unnamed warriors and kittypets
Cause of Death: jaw smashed onto rock, killed by half-sister
Cautionary Tale: ??
Story:
She was only three moons old, but she remembered it clearly. Still a kit, still needing him, yet her father left her and her mother to be with some random kittypet he fell in love with.
She remembered clearly the lack of emotion on his face as her mother begged him to stay, as she could only lay in her nest, even when Hillkit tried to get her to play.
She remembered getting her paw stuck on a thorn and having the medicine cats mumble to each other that if her father had been around to watch her, she would be fine, and how her mother was the one to drive her away. They were both males, too.
As was her mentor, brother to her father, and much too judgmental. No, he was worse than that. He was downright cruel. He would make her move until she couldn’t raise her head off the ground, and when she could no longer fight back, he would call her pathetic and blame his brother leaving on her because she was so useless.
He stated that it should have been her brother that lived. Born too soon and too sickly, they were both cared for every second, but only Hillkit survived. Maybe Ravenfeather was right. Maybe if she hadn’t taken up all those resources, Volekit would still be alive.
No. It wasn’t her fault. It was theirs. Olivestrike left her mother in the midst of her grief, and revealed that he had been cheating. Those medicine cats blamed the grieving mother for paying more attention to her sickly kit than her mate, and Ravenfeather clawed at her and shouted at her for not being able to fight back against a fully-trained warrior when she was less than half his size?
Toms!
Too bad Ravenfeather was already dead by the time she decided to do something.
So she went to the Twolegplace, asking around for a couple of days, or sometimes threatening, until she found him. Rather, she found his daughter. She held her down until Olivestrike, sickened by the worry on his face. When he came close enough, she slammed into him, driving him back in spite of the efforts made by the two to stop, and broke his jaw on one of the garden’s stones.
She ignored the cries and shouts of his daughter. She wasn’t here for her. She ripped a whisker from his face and brought it to the elder’s den, where she dropped it at her mother’s paws.
Then she killed Ryestump, the eldest medicine cat, now retired. She found him in the forest while he was ‘stretching his weary bones,’ posed perfectly behind a rock. She pounced, shoving him into the boulder. It was enough to shatter bone, but it took a few more hits to stop the breathing.
When she was finished, she took two whiskers. One, she wove into her mother’s nest, the other was for her.
The next was Reedslip. He had broken up with his mate, who was heartbroken. The Clan didn’t need another one like him.
A few more warriors were added to the collection before Leafstone’s, the other medicine cat, apprentice was fully named.
A few more after. The reasoning dwindled. Most of the time it didn’t matter if they were cruel or mean or the one to break off a relationship, or to be in a relationship at all.
They were toms, that was enough.
She was in the middle of tearing at Shrewsheep’s ear when something slammed against her. She vision was too hazy to understand what was happening, but there was a scent that was vaguely familiar.
She just caught a glimpse of her fur before she was driven forward against a stone.
Additional Information:
--Her mother knew what happened to her father, but by the other death, she was too old and out of it to tell there was two more whiskers.
--She collected trophies!
--I decided on a more traditional serial killer, this one is motivated by hatred for the other gender, also meaning that they have a type. The others do too, it’s just not so obvious.
--In her dead form, instead of a bottom part of her jaw (the flat part, not the full part), she has a rock