Lyla
I sat in my small office in the underground prison, a history book open on my lap. The baby Feral—I'd named him Shadow—curled up against me, his strange blue-gray fur warm against my skin. Most of the Ferals had responded to my singing, regaining some of their sanity, but they still showed violent traits whenever someone other than me approached or when someone approached me.
One very funny trait I've noticed about them is how they become overprotective towards me as soon as they are restored to normal. They growl whenever someone is close to me and go berserk if they think the person is trying to attack me.
By attacking me, it could just be simple actions like hugging, shaking hands or any other thing. That was when I realized that changing them back to normal would mean filling them up with things they ought to learn. They were like empty storage disks ready to be filled.
