"Puhhh!"
She opened her eyes, immediately feeling something wet streak across her cheek and regretted it the instant it touched her skin.
Something black and furry clung to her neck, its small weight pressing unnervingly against her.
Blinking quickly, she wiped her face with the back of her hand and reached out instinctively.
"What the hell-"
It moved.
Alive.
She yelped, shoving it away.
And then she saw it clearly.
"Is that… pee?"
she muttered, still half-asleep.
The creature stared back at her with enormous, glassy blue eyes, as if it were slyly mocking her.
Without seeing its body, she could've sworn it was possessed.
Long, fox-like ears twitched, tiny paws clawed the air, and two short tails curled behind it like question marks.
She slapped her own face a few times just to make sure she wasn't dreaming.
Her panic escalated as she looked around.
No water?
Seriously?
"BAAM! Get the hell up! Work's starting!"
The bucket of cold water hitting her face stole her breath.
Ravion had kicked the door open and flung it at her, and seeing her awake only amused him-Cassira never woke on her own.
Water dripped from her hair, splattering the floor, and she squinted through the shock, mouth slightly open.
Slowly, she wiped her face with her forearm.
"A Hipchiiiii!!"
Ravion lunged at the black-furred creature, remembering the one he'd once owned, though this one seemed… a little off.
She had no words.She had no words.
The pretty boy wasn't pretty anymore-just plain stupid.
She couldn't bear the same air as either of them, so she bolted out of the room.
"He soaked all my clothes, that idiot! Nothing dry to wear."
Muttering, she walked down the corridor, her steps uneven, her mind still adjusting to this new body.
Each step left faint dark footprints on the wooden floor.
Darkov emerged from the first room, his tasks clearly already finished.
His eyes slid over the wet footprints.
That familiar judgmental look appeared immediately.
"Clean the floors before you start work."
"I'm soaked head to toe!"
"And?"
A vein twitched in her temple from sheer rage.
Her clothes were still damp, and it had only been four hours since she started working.
Not a single minute to breathe.
Ravion was nowhere to be seen, and Cassira flirted at the counter for a few extra coins.
She felt utterly wronged, scolded all morning, doing the most disgusting jobs, while that woman coasted by on charm alone.
No.
That wasn't unfair.
Not Cassira's problem.
She was smart enough to seize opportunities.
The one who couldn't was.. me .The
"When you earn your first pay, buy yourself a few clothes,"
Darkov said, followed by a 'comforting' pat on her back."
She watched him leave open mouthed, wondering how she could ever reveal her true identity.
The more she tried to escape this world, the deeper she sank into it.
Hours passed, her clothes still damp.
Night fell, air chilling her trembling body.
Customers were scarce; other workers had left, leaving her alone in the kitchen.
Carrying the trash bin to the back garden-apparently because she was 'a man'-she sniffled, trying to hold back a runny nose.
Her body shook from exhaustion, but not purely physical.
She belonged to a slave body; maybe it wasn't the fatigue, but the emotional drain.
Tears didn't fall from her eyes-they dripped from her nose.
The garden was enclosed by tall wooden fences.
A shadow leapt over, snapping her attention instantly.
Her heart raced.
She wanted to run, but her mind froze.
If someone broke in and she failed, she could already imagine the consequences, especially Darkov.
But she didn't need to move.
The shadow approached.
The house light revealed more: a human, dressed head-to-toe in black, moving purposefully-not like a thief.
His face was covered, only the eyes and brows visible.
The trash bin slipped from her hands.
She couldn't endure it-fear, exhaustion, the stinging cold.
Her eyes burned as the figure approached.
Whatever he wanted, she decided, he could take it.
He knelt to her eye level.
His green eyes scanned her trembling, soaked figure.
"Who are you?"
Deep, gentle, almost soft.
Not a threat-but a helping presence.
His hand brushed away a tear before dropped to her shoulder, and he felt the wetness of her soaked clothes.
he whispered.
"Your clothes… they're wet."
He didn't flinch, didn't recoil from the smell-the damp, the refuse of the trash bin, the exhaustion.
His concern was evident even under the harsh night light.
She wanted to lean against him and cry but held back.
In this moment, someone treated her like a person.
He glanced at the bin, then back at her.
Thoughtful.
He stood there for her better, stood, and waited, patient.
Instinctively, she wiped her tears.
Perhaps she wanted to appear… presentable?
Ridiculous.
Impossible, in this state.
"Come on. I'll give you some clothes."
He lifted the bin with one hand, extended the other.
She took it.
As they moved back toward the building, panic prickled at her.
Not through the bar entrance, not the usual way because he was a stranger.
Yet she could not resist him.
"Any trace of Gralik, Koren?"
Darkov's voice cut through the air.
Gralik again.
So… me?
Koren?