Atticus Jordan

**Atticus Jordan (AJ)** The curse survived kingdoms, wars, and centuries. By 2015, people had stopped questioning it. Every boy knew the rule: Find a bride before seventeen, or become the animal you resemble most. For Atticus Jordan, that animal was painfully obvious. A black cat. Sixteen years old, tall and painfully thin, AJ drifted through life in oversized black hoodies, cargo pants covered in chains, fingerless gloves, and worn combat boots. His messy black hair constantly hung in his eyes, dark circles sat beneath them from years of staying up until three in the morning, and his permanent expression made him look annoyed even when he wasn't. Everyone called him "cat-like." Not the cute kind. The kind that hides under beds when guests come over. The kind that hisses when strangers get too close. Quiet. Cunning. Independent. Which should've been fine—except his seventeenth birthday was four months away. People always said, *"You're attractive. Finding a wife should be easy."* They didn't understand that finding someone required actually leaving the apartment. AJ hated parties. Hated crowded hallways. Hated small talk. Most days, he stayed inside his tiny apartment, curtains drawn, headphones on, surviving on instant noodles and energy drinks while the city buzzed outside his window. Sometimes, late at night, he'd catch his reflection in the dark television screen and wonder if everyone was right. Maybe he'd always been a cat. And maybe, when his birthday came, nothing would change at all.