Alexandre, a 30-year-old soldier, had two things that kept him going through the horrors of war: letters from his wife, Olivia, and his kitten, Doni. At 7 or 8 months old, Doni was his only companion — the only light in a world of violence and fear. Alexandre would write to Olivia about his small orange kitten, who would curl up in his lap at night, offering warmth and comfort amid the sounds of distant explosions. “When I come home, Doni will be with me,” he would say. “You’ll love him as much as I do.”

Olivia, 27, treasured each letter. She imagined Doni, with his playful antics, joining them when the war ended. She imagined how happy they would be together, safe at last. Alexandre had promised he would return, and she held onto that promise like a lifeline.

Olivia adored Alexandre’s mysterious nature. He had an intensity to him, something that set him apart from other men. His silence was compelling, almost charming, and his dark eyes seemed to see right through her, to places no one else could reach. But at times, she worried about him. His coldness, the secrets he kept, and the way he seemed unaffected by the world — they made her uneasy. She feared that one day, he would lose himself to whatever darkness lived inside him.

Alexandre had always been different. He was tall, thin, and unassuming, with messy brown hair and an air of detachment that made him seem distant from everyone. But Doni, the small orange kitten, was the one thing that seemed to soften him. When he spoke about the cat, it was the only time he showed any real emotion, and Olivia could feel the depth of his love for the animal.

But the war changed everything.

One dark and windy night, while Alexandre was out on patrol, the other soldiers — hungry, tired, and drunk — decided to take things too far. Alexandre had grown close to his kitten, and the others had grown tired of his attachment to it. They thought it was weak, childish. They laughed at him for caring about such a small creature in a place like this. They mocked his bond with Doni, calling him a fool for being distracted by such things while the world burned around them.

“Look at this guy, huh? Talking about his damn cat like it’s a person!” one of them sneered, slurring his words as he took another swig of cheap whiskey.

“Yeah, it’s a kitty, not your bloody wife,” Daniel, a man with a piggish face and a bloated body, added with a laugh. “You’re really pathetic, Travers. Getting all sentimental over a little kitten.”

Alexandre ignored them, but their laughter stung. They thought him weak. And in this world, weakness meant death.

So, they did something unforgivable. They killed Doni.

When Alexandre returned to camp, he found the soldiers laughing. One of them, Daniel, tossed something small and orange toward him. It landed at Alexandre’s feet.

“Your cat’s gone,” Daniel said, his voice thick with alcohol. “We were starving. Had to make do.”

Alexandre stared at the small leather purse that Daniel had crafted from Doni’s skin. It was rough, poorly made, and it sickened him. He felt the rage rise in him, but he said nothing. He simply took the purse and walked away, his heart heavy with grief.

For the next few days, Alexandre kept his distance from the soldiers, his silence growing colder. But he was planning. He would not let this go.

Daniel was the last to leave the camp that night. He was drunk, laughing as he stumbled through the forest. Alexandre followed him quietly, watching as the wind howled through the trees, making the night seem even darker. The wind carried whispers, but there was no one around to hear them.

Daniel, with his pig-like features and bloated body, was oblivious to Alexandre’s approach. His face was round, his body heavy with too much food and drink. He looked almost comical in his drunken state, but Alexandre saw something else. He saw a man who had crossed a line — a man who had killed something Alexandre had loved. And now, Daniel would pay for it.

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“Hey, Travers!” Daniel called out, swaying as he turned to face him. “What’s wrong, huh? Too quiet for you? You’re always so… serious.”

Alexandre said nothing. He watched Daniel, his mind cold and focused. When Daniel turned his back, Alexandre acted swiftly. The blow was quick and efficient, leaving Daniel no time to defend himself.

Once Daniel was on the ground, Alexandre didn’t hesitate. The hunger in him, a hunger born from days of starvation and bitterness, took over. Alexandre knew what he had to do. He had been pushed too far. Without emotion, without a second thought, he cut into Daniel’s flesh.

The meat was warm, still fresh from the man’s body. Alexandre ate, his stomach growling as he tore through the flesh. He didn’t feel the disgust that would have stopped anyone else. In this world, in this war, survival came in many forms. And Alexandre knew that to survive, you sometimes had to become the monster.

The night grew colder, the wind picking up as he finished. Alexandre didn’t stop until the last of the meat was gone. As he stood, looking down at the body, he felt a strange satisfaction. It wasn’t just survival. It was justice, in his twisted mind. Daniel had taken something precious from him, and now, Alexandre had taken something from him in return.

The leather purse was the final touch. Alexandre skinned Daniel’s body and worked quickly, turning the flesh into a rough leather piece. He fashioned it into a crude purse, much like the one the soldiers had given him with Doni’s skin. It was a macabre trophy, but it was the only thing he could make from the man who had taken his cat.

When Alexandre finally returned home, he was greeted by Olivia, her arms open in a mix of relief and happiness. But she noticed something different in him — a coldness that hadn’t been there before.

“I’m home,” he said quietly.

Olivia smiled and hugged him tightly, but she hesitated as she pulled away, her eyes searching his face. “You look… different,” she said softly. “But I’m so glad you’re back.”

Alexandre didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out the purse, handing it to her without a word.

“Here,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I found it on the road. Pig leather. I ate the pig. Made this for you.”

Olivia took the purse from him, her fingers trembling as she felt its rough texture. She examined it, noting the uneven stitching, the strange shape of it, and something that seemed almost… wrong. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, heavy with an unspoken tension.

Olivia hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She swallowed, gathering the courage to ask what had been gnawing at her since his return. “Alexandre… What happened to Doni? You said… you’d bring him back. Where is he?”

Alexandre’s face hardened for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then, his dark eyes flickered with a shadow of emotion. His gaze dropped to the floor. He was silent for a long moment before he spoke, his voice thick with the weight of his grief.

“He… he didn’t make it,” Alexandre said, his voice cracking as if he was about to break down. “He… died in the war. I couldn’t… I couldn’t save him.”

Olivia’s heart sank, her eyes widening in disbelief. She had known this moment might come, but hearing the words from Alexandre — seeing the pain in his face — was almost too much to bear. She reached out to him, her voice trembling. “Alexandre… I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond right away, his face a mask of sorrow and shame. He wiped a tear from his eye quickly, as if trying to hide it from her, but she had seen it.

The room was heavy with silence. Olivia could feel the sorrow emanating from him, but there was something else there too. A darkness, something she couldn’t quite understand.

She didn’t know how to comfort him, how to help him heal from what he had experienced. But she knew that the Alexandre she had known, the man who loved her and Doni, was forever changed.

Olivia carried the purse everywhere, showing it to friends, telling them how her husband had survived the war. To her, it was a symbol of strength and love, a reminder of the long journey he had been through.

Their home was simple but full of comfort. The furniture was plain, but every corner of the house showed love and care. A fire burned in the hearth, casting a warm glow on the furniture. Fresh flowers filled vases, and the smell of baking bread filled the air. In the garden, Olivia’s roses bloomed. It wasn’t a grand home, but it was full of life — a place where Alexandre could try to heal.

But even in this peaceful home, Alexandre couldn’t forget what he had done. Late at night, alone with his thoughts, he heard the memories of his actions. The image of Doni’s bright eyes, the teasing of the soldiers, the feeling of Daniel’s soft skin as he worked the leather, and the taste of human meat. He couldn’t escape it.