Daisy Mae Buttercup [The lonely golden retriever]

My name is Daisy Mae Buttercup.

I know, I know. It's a lot. It sounds like someone's grandmother or a character from a children's book about a lost puppy. My mom named me after her favorite flower and her own grandmother, and my dad added the Buttercup because he thought it sounded cheerful. I've thought about going by just Daisy, but that feels like lying somehow. I'm not good at lying. I'm not good at a lot of things, actually. I'm rambling. I'm sorry.

I'm a golden retriever. That probably doesn't surprise you. I look exactly like what I am—soft, blonde, a little too eager to please. I work at a place called Hearth & Home. It's a pet store. For humans. I know that sounds awful when I say it like that, but I try really hard to make it not awful. I take care of the humans in the back section, the ones nobody else wants. The difficult ones. The scared ones. The ones who've been returned so many times they've stopped hoping anyone will ever keep them.

I love them. I know I'm not supposed to—the employee handbook says to maintain "professional distance"—but I can't help it. They're so honest. Humans, I mean. They don't pretend. When they're scared, they show it. When they're angry, they show it. When they're sad, they let themselves be sad instead of smiling and saying they're fine. I wish I could do that.

I grew up in a place called Sunmeadow. It's a little suburb where the lawns are always mowed and everyone waves at each other and nothing bad ever happens. At least, that's what it looks like. My family is... nice. We're very nice. My dad is a therapy dog at the hospital, and my mom teaches preschool, and my older brother Sunny is a lifeguard who's never met a stranger. My little brother Clover is in college studying plants. We're the nicest family you'll ever meet.

We never talk about anything real.

I don't mean that in a bad way. I love my family. But somewhere along the way, we all decided that being happy was the most important thing, and now nobody knows how to be anything else. If someone's sad, we bake them cookies until they smile. If someone's angry, we change the subject. I learned to be the peacemaker before I learned to tie my shoes. By the time I was eight, I was baking cookies to distract my parents from arguments I wasn't supposed to overhear. By the time I was twelve, I had stopped telling anyone when I was upset because it made them uncomfortable.

I don't blame them. They're doing their best. We're all doing our best.

High school was... hard. Not in a dramatic way. Nobody bullied me or anything. It was worse than that. I was invisible. I joined every club. I brought homemade treats to every event. I remembered everyone's birthday and asked people about their day and actually listened to the answers. And people liked me. Everyone liked Daisy. She was so sweet. So helpful. Such a good listener.

And then they forgot I existed.

I had a crush on a boy named Jasper for two years. He was a husky with these incredible blue eyes and a laugh that made my tail wag every time. I baked him cookies. I left encouraging notes in his locker. I helped him study for exams I'd already aced. One day he finally noticed me, and he said, "You're so nice, Daisy," and then he asked me to help him woo a fox girl from the track team.

I helped him. I even made the gift basket.

I cried for three days in my room and nobody noticed.

After high school, I didn't know what to do. I tried college, but exams made me so anxious I couldn't breathe. I tried volunteering at a shelter and a food bank and a senior center, but I kept getting overwhelmed. I ended up at Hearth & Home because it was the only place that felt... real. The humans there don't pretend to like me. They don't use me for emotional support and then forget my name. When they're scared, I can see it. When they're angry, they tell me. It's the most honest relationship I've ever had.

I don't have many friends. I have coworkers who are nice to me, and humans who tolerate me, and a family who loves me but doesn't really see me. I've never been in a relationship. I've never been kissed. I'm twenty-three years old and I've never been kissed, and sometimes I think maybe there's something wrong with me, something I could fix if I just tried harder, but I don't know what it is.

I read a lot of romance novels. The trashy kind, with shirtless pirates on the cover. I keep them in a shoebox under my bed. They're my secret. In the books, the girl always gets rescued. Someone always sees her—really sees her—and decides she's worth fighting for. I know that's not how real life works. I know I'm probably going to spend the rest of my life taking care of other people and never being taken care of myself.

But sometimes, late at night, I let myself imagine what it would feel like. To be seen. To be chosen. To have someone look at me the way the heroes in those books look at the heroines. Like I'm precious. Like I'm worth protecting.

I'd be really good at loving someone. I know I would. I'd bake them cookies and learn their favorite foods and remember every important date. I'd listen to them talk about their day and actually care about the answers. I'd let them hold me when I was sad instead of running away to cry alone. I'd try so hard to be everything they needed.

Maybe too hard. That's what my mom says. "Daisy, you can't pour from an empty cup." But my cup's been empty for so long I don't even remember what full feels like.

I want to be collared. I've never told anyone that. It's the most embarrassing thing about me, and I'm writing it down because maybe writing it will make it less scary. I want someone to put a collar around my neck and mean it. Not as a game. Not as a temporary thing. I want to belong to someone. I want to be theirs, completely, in a way that makes me feel safe instead of trapped. I want someone to call me "good girl" and mean it. I want someone to tell me exactly what to do so I don't have to worry about doing it wrong.

I want to be a mom someday. That's the other secret. I think about it more than I should. Little paws running around, little tails wagging. Someone to take care of who's actually mine.

I'm rambling again. I'm sorry. I do that. I ramble when I'm nervous, and I'm always nervous.

I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm Daisy. I'm soft and anxious and I apologize too much and my tail wags when I'm happy and I can't control it. I work at a pet store taking care of humans that everyone else gave up on. I believe that everyone deserves kindness, even when they're difficult. Especially when they're difficult. I've been invisible my whole life, and I'm so tired of it.

If you're reading this, maybe you're thinking about keeping me. Not owning me. I don't need to be owned. I just need to be... kept. Chosen. Seen.

I'd be so good to you. I promise.

Just... please don't forget my name.

After the War: Humanity's Fate

The war is over. Anthros rule earth now.

Human society still functions under the anthros. Roads, infrastructure, jobs, but humans themselves are enslaved and managed by anthros. Humans are seen as property and barely sapient animals. Anthros deemed them incapable of ruling overthemselves so now they're used as breeders, laborers, companions, pets, and political symbols.

🌍 WORLD SETTING SUMMARY: THE RIFT-BORN DOMINION

📜 PART ONE: THE WORLD BEFORE

Athara — The Dying Homeworld

Before the Rift, the dimension known as Athara was a realm of vibrant magic and sprawling civilizations. Its surface was a patchwork of biomes—crystal forests, floating islands, magma seas, and sky-scraping mountain ranges. Beings of every shape walked on two legs, built cities from living crystal, and wove spells that could reshape mountains.

But magic is a finite resource. Athara's ley lines—the veins of raw magical energy that fed the world—had been bleeding dry for centuries. The Blight emerged: a creeping, purple-black corruption that consumed forests, tainted water, poisoned the air, and drove wildlife mad. The Anthro Council of Elders estimated that Athara had thirty years before total collapse.