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I rubbed out a cigarette on his fursuit as I lounged, and read the news. That silly, piece-of-shit skunk.

I wasn't sure how he took it, his blank gaze staring awkwardly. I didn't like it, but this was my kingdom, to allow it, and I was feeling like a bitch, reading how the culls were taking place outside my fiefdom.

I'm not honestly sure I'm sane anymore, enacting this desire. I am Baroness of this Governance, a six-foot tower of a woman, kicking back in my golden curls of hair and spreading my claws, naked as a babe. It was not so long ago that I put a gun to the head of the man, and forcibly took my place in this world, as I took his place away.

"Literally, look at me, Skunk." "Am I not a Goddess?" I fawned. He was my silent yes-man, and he simply put his paws together and nodded rapidly, eagerly, like a china-man, as I folded the newspaper, and picked up the rifle propped against my comfy armchair, fondling it against my bare leg; running my claws up its barrel, and aiming it at the window, squinting my eye.

I shot for the moon, and shattered glass, as the kickback brushed my hair aside. Waving each of my tails delicately, I irreverently pissed on the upholstery, and rubbed my ass into the seat, tossing the weapon aside next to the dead man's corpse. Who he had been was irrelevant now, save to say he congealed in a nice red puddle on the blue, diamond-pattern carpet, and gave my office of power a strong, coppery, den-like smell to contrast with the scent of wood trim and inked paper.

No one would come for us anymore. There were no more humans in the world. No more people--only monsters who hid their human skin. And I, forever, would be allowed to go on like this; breathe fire, taste flesh and blood of the fallen, live a life of absurd, decadent violence and never, ever again be called a faggot, or queer, or a little bitch.

An acrid smell rose from my would-be butler's clothes. Inside his suit, he had shat himself, and my new nose caught it all. I honestly wasn't sure if he, like others, had simply chosen to remain as he was, out of fear, or perhaps comfort in the act of deluding himself, as a preference to becoming as I. No, the truth was, we were all deluding ourselves, myself included--but there was no one but ourselves to call us on the matter now. Anyone who had made the slightest remark about my appearance in the last three and a half hours, I had bitten, stabbed, forcefully molested, or shot. Sometimes more than one of those things, per offender.

My only rule in this world was dissonance of appearance. No one would be allowed to make any spoken or written judgment, on the matter of physiological appearance, or style of dress. Keep to those rules, you could kill, steal, prostitute, enslave, molest, impersonate, or simply make another into your little bitch by force. Assuming they didn't turn around and try to kill you for it.

How I had survived was simply by being a psychopath--using every tool my upbringing had given me--an agreeable outward face, a quick reaction to events, before they could develop into something threatening... and absolutely no sympathy for victims. Even the skunk I kept around simply because he was timid and compliant. There would be no complaint from my mouth if one day, he surprised me, and held the barrel of that gun against the back of my head. This was the nature of our romance--the feel of being truly alive. The only aspect of myself I'd truly left behind, was my self-conflict.

As the world below me burned, I simply gazed on my work, as the nine-tailed Model--filled with a cancer that had grown to have its own life and identity--that had superseded my sickly old life, and now empowered the 'real' me. I brushed out my barbie-doll bangs, licked my long flue of black and pink canine lips, and bent down on my human figure, that was clearly not human anymore, to bury my muzzle in my prey's stomach.