"Being Alive"
"I love this place," breathes the large maned lion to himself, softly, overlooking the illuminated nighttime beach from somewhat above; he is standing on a low balcony, but there's a set of short stairs leading down to the sand and comfortable lounge chairs. His four massive paws drift away from everyone else. They're all immersed in their own conversations, and he's always been a bit of a loner even while sociable. He burns out from interaction within a few hours unless it's an extremely high-energy sort of day, and today has had normal levels of that. So, down the steps he travels, and he approaches the waves.
He sinks down into the cool, very shallow, lapping saltwater, and lies there upon his underside, legs curled up beneath him and tufted tail curled against one flank. Making a mental note to glance behind himself now and then in case everyone retreats for the night and forgets to check if he's all right, he relishes in the feel of…
Of everything. Of being alive. This is nice.
The wolf kemonomimi, Emerald, whom he'd been speaking with (and essentially following everywhere. They never mind it, they like leading him around whilst chattering constantly) has already gone to bed. They're close friends, but Emerald goes to bed quite early every night, which is fine. There are like ten other individuals still up and about. There were more or less twenty at the peak of it all earlier. It's past ten PM, and the area is isolated enough that the stars in the dark sky are innumerable and bright. The roar of the ocean is a familiarly soothing ambience. The bottom of his thick, dual-toned tawny-and-black mane, stretching down along his similarly wettened belly, is getting soaked. So are his limbs.
If he isn't mindful, he'll fall deep asleep out here. It'd be so easy. Yet he isn't yawning. His mind is thoughtfully awake.
As a being able to shapeshift into any Felidae species, and only those ever since his rebirth, he has never been happier with his own existence. He had nothing left going for him in his previous world, in his seventies and falling apart. Identifying for most of his lifetime as a nonhuman spirit underneath his physically human flesh, someone within the alterhumanity umbrella. It began while he was a child, then during his adolescence on Tumblr, when he was just starting to learn about the notion of "otherkin," he reminisces on his old self.
His childhood had been tumultuous. He'd cracked his transmasc egg rather late, in his opinion, at age twenty-six. Ought to have seen it much sooner. He'd gotten married to the love of his life in his thirties, and they'd remained together happily till death. Unfortunately…when his elderly deceased soul was given the chance by a mysterious, powerful cosmic entity to reincarnate into his truest form, his beloved wife, a sweet-hearted beaver therian—every bit as grayed-out and wrinkled as himself—had felt she had to deny the opportunity. It pained him, but she was genuinely tired of living. She wanted to peacefully rest in her afterlife. Who was he to deny her?
He isn't miserable. He misses her, of course. He'll join her again, one day, when this new life runs out.
This is a realm of second attempts.