#bluethread

Already the alarm bells in your head tell you something's wrong. You don't smell it. You can barely hear it. They have such light steps all the time. But you can feel a presence, whose absence is notable. None of them are quite like that.

The lights flicker off.

And a few dead seconds later, you hear footsteps. Strides toward your nest. Taunting you, as if a straight line from the door to your precious sanctuary is the only way it would take.

And as soon as the two elevator doors begin to close behind her, her hands are on you, cherishing you, sporting the physical incarnation of all that passion on the hand pinning you by the hip against the back wall of the lift car, her left hand strong and pressing her fingers into your firm supple flesh. That gaze is done looking anywhere else, anywhere but into you, where the rose brachiates and fills you, binding the sweet desperate need to every fiber of you.

And the other, with the gift she had meant for you, pulling taut the buckle around the collar on your neck, perfectly fitted, silken and strong, spackled with lightning and the night sky and sealed with a little bow, and your doll tag delicately dangling from the ring.

A breath washes over your face, tilted up to look at her with her right hand fingers on your chin, gripping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. Her lips brush over the helix of your ear. A whisper like a blade passing over still water.

"Mine."

Operations like these were always dangerous. At least there was usually a good reason and an easily discernible strategy when there's monsters, demons, or celestials involved. Human malice is unique. It's her responsibility after all. To take care of you.

It helps that you're so soft and easy on the eyes.

As you begin to stir into conscience, you hear her gentle voice.

"Stay still now, Beaumont."

Shapely and pretty, comely, sweet. Your TL is beautiful; something you already knew. Something you'd felt in your heart when you met her. In her nursemaid uniform, with that skirt that's too short, with your head in her lap, her soft chest above you, it's... something out of a dream, isn't it?

"You've been very brave. Too brave, even. You know you don't have anything to prove, don't you?"

Night has fallen, and you've settled into your perch for the night. Some time to recover. Preen your feathers. You may even have gotten your fill of hunted food this time. Its good, being out here again. You'd put on weight in captivity, with the restrictions on your flight, and things are sluggish even so. But they're weak. Humans always have been. If they weren't so crafty and such good sources of amusement and sustenance you'd have made your own work of them. Perhaps even had a slave or two.

A twig snaps, somewhere below.

It's probably nothing. Probably.

And yet.

There's silence afterwards. No scurrying of a nervous scavenger or night crawler. No chitter. No scratching.

Probably nothing.

Probably nothing.

Probably nothing.

"She's the parfect woman. Soft an sweet an so incapable an she's gonna get Momo so good far sure." Her cheeks split wide open, smiling and feeling her flesh burn bright about it as she duels the duelist's fingers offhand for access to her treats.

Something quiet. For once. This rare taste of Faolain's Titan. Not after anything at all. With no commands or strictures or duties or chores. The leave has done a lot for her. Even bigger than she began. In so many ways. Her smile. Her eyes. Her biceps. Her warmth.

"Just needs a maid unifarm, and..."

This part of the castle.

The purrincess isn't so unused to the parts of her domain, walking about as she does. But isn't it a little quieter than usual?

She hasn't even heard any maids making fun of her flat chest or slapping her soft jiggly juicy ass in the last 10 minutes, and something about that just feels wrong.

Dark, isn't it.

One could swear there were lights in here. There should be. It shouldn't be this dark in this hallway, the purrincess is sure of it.

The floor's wet, too. Huh.

She'll have to talk to one of the maids about this one. Ah, well.