Not all furs live a happy life. Some furs hate being what they
are. What they've turned themselves into. What others expect them
to be. They try to change things, and end up envying their past.
They see they've changed the wrong things. They wish they'd changed
earlier. Learned their mistake sooner. They do nothing, and their
future turns into a bottomless pit. Friends disappear. Enemies
multiply and band together. They see this, try to fade away, and
end up just that much more visible. They alone are the balance
for the rest of furrydom. Necrofurs start their existance at death.
Void of form. Content. Purpose. Moral. They are puppets to a lesser
cause. They know this. They hate the path they are forced to walk,
the world they are forced to wander though, but most of all, the
human that pulls their strings.
Until He is dead, they are forever stuck in
The Open Grave
