FSE

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The Moon shone brightly onto the forests and hills of the Woodland. Besides a few sounds of nature, the world was silent. In a large clearing, next to the many houses, factories, and shops, the stony keep of the Marquise stood tall, its flags flapping in the cold evening wind. In one of its more prominent towers, whose steep walls dipped into the moat of the fortress itself, a window was lit by a fireplace from the inside. A few pots of boiling water hung over its flames, and on the wall opposite to the fireplace was a large canopy bed, half-hidden behind red drapes, and next to it a divider, which hid the darker half of the room. On her soft mattress of cotton and feathers, the Marquise was reading “L'âge des monstres", a new compendium on ancient Woodland history written by a freshly graduated university student as part of his thesis.

She remembered the student: a certain young, awkward hare named Gilbert, who had come to the Keep to consult the Marquisal library. She remembered his lean body, his naïve smile, and that rough tavern smell that clung to him in the morning, clashing with his elegant clothes and well-kept fur. He would have made for a fun fling: she would've cracked his shell of shyness and etiquette with teasing, flirting, and touches, until a last fracture would've made that little scholar burst into a disinhibited, humping, panting mess, hanging from her every word and desire, so happy and so lucky to be able to bed his Marquise. She could've eaten him up.

Though, perhaps, he would have just declined her advances. Maybe he had someone he loved back home, waiting for him. Sad to think about, that two people in love could be so far apart. She thought of soldiers deployed in far away lands, and of sailors: imagine being their lovers, seeing them so rarely, and not knowing if they'd ever come back.

But people didn't need to travel far to be distant from their lovers: she thought of that old Général who worked for her Constable and how he'd stay in his office until late at night studying and analyzing every piece of information and every number he had on the Woodland, trying to predict events, planning orders, writing letters, all while his mistress drifted off into sleep in her chamber, wishing her husband loved her more than he loved his duties.

The Marquise thought of her own husband, Dominic: he was far away, on one of his diplomatic missions. Whenever his leaves were particularly long, he'd write her letters, in which he'd tell her all about what he and his team were doing and whatever curiosities he was coming across during his stay, mainly focusing on exotic foods and the quality of the cuisine. He never hinted at missing her particularly. “It's alright, I'm not too upset about him not being here" the Marquise had once said to a servant.

What they had was not love; she knew that much, and Dominic definitely knew as well. She remembered their first night: he had told her it felt dirty, like “fucking a colleague while working", and he was really into that.

A sigh escaped her lips.

It was no issue: romantic love was a messy business that she didn't need in her life.

She continued reading a while until she heard fatigued, raspy groans from outside the window become progressively clearer and closer. Then, she could hear the rustling of clothes. Lastly, grey ears appeared over the edge of the windowsill.

She shook her head. “You are way too noisy."

“Shut up." A wolf emerged above the sill, pushing the doors of the window apart. Once he was with both legs on the ledge, he jumped inside, his steel rattling.

The Marquise put her book down on the nightstand beside the bed while the wolf took his gambeson off and let it fall against the floor with a thud, his burly figure appearing defined under his tunic. He dropped his sword, his quiver, and his bow, but kept his dagger on his waist, its scabbard digging into the folds of his clothing.

His presence warmed her, and already she felt her mood brighten.

The Ranger gave a quick glance at the nightstand, “What were you reading, Marcie?"

“Silly stories for silly cats."

He snorted, “Appropriate."

She sat on the side of the mattress and got up, her gown folding over his armor and weapons; with her foot, she pushed all of them, one by one, under the bed.

Her eyes were glued to him. He was the same height as her but way larger, wrapped in dirty clothes and covered in ruffled grey fur. The shoulders of his tunic in particular were soaked in dried blood, probably from a previous brave hunt. He smelled of earth, sweat, and iron. He needed to be cleaned.

“You are a mess, dear Ranger."

He mumbled, “What is new?"

“I prepared a bath for you."

“Hmph. A bath?" He asked, offended. He noticed the divider in the room and focused on the smells in the air: sure enough, warm fragrances came from that part of the room. He let out a sharp exhale. “I won't entertain your decadence."

Marcie tilted her head. “Decadence? A bath? Everyone bathes, Ranger. Why didn't you bathe before coming to see me?"

He looked away, with tired eyes and shaky brows. “It was a hard day…"; then he turned back to her as he filled his chest with air, “and it does not matter." He put his hands around her waist and pulled her closer.

She gasped, “Don't make me stink like you! Everyone has a sense of smell, not just uncoughed wolves."

“So what?" He squeezed her and rubbed his snout against the crook of her neck. “Let's mix your fancy scent with my stench and make something new. Everyone will smell it." He licked her, and between licks, he continued, muffling his voice against her fur, “Let them smell us!"

He may have looked tired, but he was still so intense. She lowered her head. “We can't have that…" Then, she pushed herself away from him, “…and I don't want that."

A quiet whimper escaped the canid.

She moved behind him, petting him on the back of his neck. “Now… you don't even want to see the bath? I made it pretty for you."

The wolf agreed quietly, and each of them carrying a pot of hot water from the fireplace, they walked past the divider. Behind it was a ceramic tub, which the Marquise had requested be installed in her and Dominic's chamber. Its surface was reflecting the light of a cedarwood and orange candle, the mix of zest and earthiness pleasingly tickling their noses and soothing their minds. Around the tub and on its edges were a few flowers and petals. They poured the water from the pots into the tub, which was already half full with colder water.

After they set the pots down, Marcie approached the wolf. “Let me take your tunic off... and your dagger, maybe?"

He gripped its hilt.

The cat squeezed his shoulder. “You're safe here. You know nobody comes at night unless I call them."

He hesitated, then nodded, and unbuckled his belt, leaving his blade near the tub.

He lifted his arms and allowed her to remove his tunic. It was always a pleasure to see him naked. He had strength and muscle, but his body was not chiseled: his edges were soft. His solid shoulder leaned gently into his arm and its bulging bicep. His full, powerful chest gave way to a soft, fluffy belly, and his body was all over a landscape of gentle hills and lush valleys of fur. Fur that was dirty and coarse, but not for long.

She lowered his trousers and set them aside. His legs were beautiful basalt columns, yet one could rest on those thighs as if they were pillows.

The Ranger finally lay in the tub of steaming water, a groan of pleasure escaping his nostrils. For a good while, the two remained silent, Marcie sitting beside him and rubbing a fragrant soap bar into his fur, careful to clean every part of the wolf's body and earning from him adorable murmurs of pleasure. What a delicious treat, getting to run her hands all over him. He was hers to touch however she wanted: she squeezed his pecs, felt the width of his chest, massaged his neck… Concerns and duties evaporated from her mind as she focused solely on him.

She got closer to his ear and spoke caringly, “You didn't tell me what happened today. It sounded like you had quite the workout."

“Just had a hard time doing what I always do." He remained silent a moment, knowing that was barely an answer. He shifted a little, causing the water to splash around. “That's all."

Better not push him for more information: it was meant to be a moment of relaxation for both of them. As if she had never asked anything, she returned to washing and fondling the wolf.

Eventually, she began working on his head. The little scratches and rubs he was receiving around his neck and around his ears seemed to be what he enjoyed the most: he would lean the weight of his head against her hands, and his arousal started showing through his sheath.

It felt good to see him like that: happy, pleased— it filled her with a deep warmth. She wasn't used to getting that feeling from her affairs, and she shied away from it: an affair was supposed to be a simple excuse to indulge in carnal pleasure. Yet, that warmth was more thrilling than any bite or kiss, and she wanted it more than anything else. What she had with that wolf made any past affairs seem utterly boring and pointless, and yet he wasn't the first Woodland savage she had had. Maybe that overwhelming feeling was what she was really after. Did he feel the same? That warmth was not the reason they had started seeing each other, after all.

Time slowed down. Or did it speed up? The bath was over. The wolf stood next to the tub in the flickering candlelight, soaked, as she dried him with a towel. He reached for his old clothes.

Marcie stopped his arm. “Non, non! Don't wear those dirty clothes."

“Well, it's cold, so I'm gonna have to wear something."

“Stand by the fireplace and wait to dry up. I'll get you something from the wardrobe. And leave your dirty clothes to soak in the tub."

The canine left his clothes in the water, then went to sit next to the crackling fire, trembling. Marcie came up behind him and put a long, heavy robe on his shoulders.

“Better?"

“Hmm."

The wolf's eyes were focused on the dancing flames. He seemed deep in thought. She moved to stand beside him, between the fireplace and the seats.

“My nightgown got wet. I'll have to dry it."

His eyes raised from the fire to meet her own. She reached behind her back for the string that kept the dress tight around her body and pulled it. The cloth loosened around her shoulders and slipped, leaving her neck and her upper chest naked. Still, the dress was held up enough to not just fall to the ground, the sleeves doing most of the work together with the thin leather strip around her waist.

She could feel the wolf leering at the fur between her breasts, at the curves of her shoulders, and at her neck. She found his passion beautiful.

Her hands lowered and reached the tiny buckle of her belt. She undid it, and it fell to the ground with a thud. The whole dress started falling, smoothly slipping off of her arms, dropping past her breasts, then her hips, and ending up as a lump of fabric on the floor.

The intensity of the wolf's stare only increased. She never thought she was particularly beautiful: her personality could be rather rough, she knew that, and her face was not adorned by big, cute eyes or a perfect, narrow jaw; her hips were not wide enough, her tail was too short, her breasts were too small, and, while not overweight, her belly would fold over itself when she bent forward or sideways. Yet, some people wanted her badly, spending hours and days trying to court her, and that kindled within her a profound satisfaction. Still, it seemed to her that most men were primarily attracted by the idea of “having an affair with the Marquise" rather than by “Marcie de Chat" herself: they wanted her because it meant thrill, risk, maybe even rebellion, but not because of her body or her person. Any marquise would've satisfied their fantasies. With them, she couldn't be sure sex was not a game of roles and appearances, like the rest of her life.

The wolf was picky and detached, rarely showing any emotion besides annoyance, anger, or apathy, but when something really caught his attention, he'd display his want and appreciation with utter transparency. So, when Marcie heard, saw, and smelled the urgent hunger that would rise within him at the mere sight of her naked body, she felt like a goddess being worshipped by a lucky pilgrim.

The wolf got up from his seat and moved to stand in front of her.

“Uhm, why did you get up, dear?" She asked playfully.

He breathed heavily. His hands reached for her and squeezed her bare waist. He let out a low growl. How could he look so much like a wild animal while smelling like a basket of fruits? He pulled her closer and rubbed his nose against her cheek, speaking hungrily, “You look so delicious."

The cat slipped her hands under the robe and hugged him, pressing her body against his, feeling the wolf's damp fur and his need growing against her body, squeezed between their bellies. She could feel her own desire heating up as well.

“Hmm, want to eat me?"

“Maybe I do."

“After I bathed you? Not very kind."

She rubbed her body against his, her breasts travelling upwards across his chest, as her hands fell down to his rump to squeeze it. It was soft, plump, and strong, capable of pushing deep and hard into her, making every thrust impossible to ignore.

He let out a huff, while she giggled, and continued, “Don't let that stop you. Follow your instinct when you're with me." Her grip on his glutes got firmer. She kneaded them.

The wolf shivered, letting out soft, amused exhales. He closed his maw around her neck and started nibbling her. She licked his ear and hugged him tighter while rubbing her right thigh against his left leg and leading his hand from her waist down to her right glute, which he held lustfully in his palm. Their lips connected, and their tongues filled each other's mouths. A few instants later, he was carrying her to the bed, his hands holding her by her butt and his rough, wolven claws almost cutting through her skin, while her legs were wrapped around his waist and their mouths were locked in a long kiss.

He set her down on her back against the mattress, her legs still around him. He broke the kiss to move downwards: with broad licks, he lathered her body with his saliva. That was not going to smell good later, but it did not matter anymore; she didn't want it to matter.

He eagerly licked her neck and her shoulders, then moved on to her chest, where his maw enveloped the entirety of each of her soft breasts, and he dragged his tongue from their base to the flushed, reddened tips.

Marcie ruffled the fur of his head while she moaned approvingly every time she felt the canine's sloppy, urgent kisses against her body.

Moving lower and lower, he eventually reached her crotch, the most sensitive parts of her body shivering with bliss at the wild attention the wolf gave them.

He pushed her further into the bed and kneeled between her legs. She could see then his entire length out of its sheath, dripping with need; he drooled on it, making it slick and moist. He slipped into her without warning and yet with little resistance.

He humped and lay on top of the cat below him, his entire weight pressing down on her. He was such a beast. She was hugging him tightly while his voice reached her ears: “You feel so good."

“Hng— you fill me so well. Ahh~"

“Hrmm…"

She continued, “Make me feel all of you." The wolf rubbed his snout against her.

“You are so handsome." His tail wagged wildly behind him as she complimented him, while he kept thrusting without control, almost clumsily. She held him close, with her arms wrapped around his broad chest and her belly pressed against his own, as she sighed with joy in his ears.

She lost herself in the rhythmic movement of pleasure. Her claws started prickling the wolf's skin, and she nibbled his neck with her pointy feline fangs. One of her bites sunk a bit too deep into his fur and earned a bark from him.

“Ow! Grhn— you damn—"

Not even hearing his reaction, she bit him again, harder.

With a wave of angry strength, the Ranger picked her up from her chest and flipped her over. Then, he pushed her shoulders into the bed and began pounding her with deep, frenetic motions. She could hear his low growl as he exerted every ounce of his strength, and his cold drool fell from his pointed fangs and dangling tongue onto her back. His rough hands moved from her shoulders to her waist, and she was suddenly being pulled upwards and then pushed away repeatedly, the wolf making her bounce between the bed and his own swinging hips.

“I should take you with me before the night ends. Yeah, I should take The Marquise with me so that I can fuck her anytime. I'd take you every moment I want you, and we would be beautiful together, far from the Woodland, far away from everyone. You're not meant to be nobility; you're meant to be with me!"

She moaned softly and tightened up. The position didn't quite allow her to touch herself, but she ached for more stimulation, arousal burning through her ears. How much she fantasized about leaving as well… to run away into the woods, away from everything. Forget projects, power, wealth— forget the world! Nothing mattered more than the fullness, the passion, the warmth that she felt with that wolf. She could not resist it: the need for it was so great that she was willing to compromise herself by cheating on her husband again and again with a commoner. She should've run away, abandoned the Empire and the Woodland, away into the wilds with him…

Such an arousing fantasy, the escape. She had pleasured herself while lost in that fantasy many times, and she wanted to indulge in it even while she was with the Ranger… But pretending with him, even if just for the sake of arousal, felt too wrong, too opposite to the brutal, honest spontaneity that made their affair special. Still, she could play off of that impossible idea without saying yes...

“Hah, no way! You'll have to kidnap me while I scream and kick if you want to take me away."

He chuckled through his clenched teeth, “Don't make it sound too fun."

He pulled her close to himself, Marcie laughing and whimpering as he gave her neck soft bites, and his hand squeezed her breasts. However, he soon let her fall onto the bed with a thump and slowed down his pace. Clearly that rhythm was getting too much to keep up with.

She pushed herself away, letting him slip out.

He barely managed a questioning “Hm?" as out of breath as he was.

She patted one of the pillows with her hand. “Lay down."

And so, he lay down. She sat on him, putting her thighs around his waist, slowly grinding her hips against his, feeling his hardness push within her as she burned up inside with pleasure.

They kept silent, while their heaving and their panting filled the air, accompanied by the meaty slaps of her thighs against his, the occasional wet lick to his snout, a purr from her throat, or a growl from his chest.

Marcie spoke over this symphony.

“So, when we're together, you think of kidnapping me? That's what gets you going?"

He snorted, then added, “Maybe." He was fixated on the movements of her hips.

She thought about it a moment, then smiled. “Funny… kind of."

His eyes were still wide open and glued to where their crotches met. Had he even heard her? It seemed incredible, in that moment, that he could even think of anything while having sex.

“You know, I took you for the type of person to have sex without fantasizing much."

“You did?" He sounded confused.

“I guess I thought you just liked my body."

“But I do." His hand started gently rubbing her belly. It was soothing.

“But you go on your flights of fancy…"

He smirked. “Well, it just comes naturally to think of what I want."

“Hm… I get it. It's just that…" She realized this was going to sound insane: people wanted to be approached and courted for who they were as people, and yet— “… I hoped you wanted me just because of how I look, not because I'm The Marquise, or anything else, really."

“Tsk! You don't have to be anything; with me you can be just a— uhm…" He paused. What was she if she wasn't the Marquise? A cat? No, that was still something that carried too much baggage, much like being the Marquise. A woman? No, also too many notions attached to that identity… He guessed there was one thing she'd always be without having to imply much about her: “… you can be just a body." His hand squeezed her side, earning a yip from her. “A body I like very much."

A rush of excitement as he said that. Just a body. Her marquisate, her keep, her clothes— things she usually considered extensions of herself— with that sentence, were lost, and she somehow felt more naked than she actually was.

Yet, what he had said beforehand kept troubling her. “Well, clearly you like that I'm the Marquise, or you wouldn't be thinking of kidnapping the Marquise so eagerly…" She looked away, half joking to hide her disappointment, “maybe my beauty wouldn't be enough if I wasn't a marquise, hm?"

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please! You could be an empress or a vagrant; there would be only one of this body of yours on the face of the Earth. And look at it… beautiful, inside and out." He grinned lustfully while he held her waist with both hands. “This is all you are." He suddenly thrust upwards, and she moaned with surprise. “And this..." He led her hand to his chest. “...is all I am. We can be just this."

She sighed, “Just… this? So you're just a big hunk of muscle?"

His smile grew wider. “Yes! Not even Ranger, or a wolf, just a thing you like looking at. We don't have to be anything."

Her melancholy dissipated, a profound warmth resurfacing. “Well… you are good-looking, but I like so much more about you…" She leaned forward, moving more vigorously around his shaft. Her snout rubbed against his cheeks as her mouth murmured in his ear. “I like how you move, your voice, what you say… and I like knowing what you think." He licked her cheek, and she looked at him in his dark, large pupils. Even then, in the midst of passion, his face couldn't hide his tiredness, sunken shadows always present below his half-closed eyes. “Honestly, I have thought of running away with you as well. It's… arousing to think about."

“It is what we should do. This world is not for us; let us go away and be nothing, just two bodies, two creatures in a sea of trees, free…"

The wolf's voice trailed off into huffs and panting, his breath more and more labored as Marcie kept up her motions. Soon, their pace had picked up, and their hearts were beating faster, louder. Her moans filled the air as his claws scratched her skin and her breast pressed against his chest. Her mind was filled with nothing but heat, allowing only moan after moan to come out of her mouth. He was grunting, his eyes closed and brows furrowed, his entire focus solely on his throbbing source of pleasure.

She rose and descended on his lap, again and again, as that feeling of warmth she shied away from overwhelmed her. But with it came a streak of blue melancholy, which cut deep through the beating heart of her passion, making it bleed. She looked down at him; she could never truly have him. Despite living in the same land, they were distant because of what their inescapable world was, and because of what they were under the light of day. They could exist together only in a dream.

Her climax was one sigh away, yet her eyes welled up with tears.

“Do you love my body? Every part of it? All of it? Forever?"

He loosened his grip, slowing down, startled by the question, understanding its implication, and not wanting to finish.

She pushed him against the bed, teasing his tip.

“Tell me! My body…" Her voice was full of urgency, as if he might disappear any moment and never let her know.

She grabbed his wrist and led his palm to her breast. He moved his hand upward and caressed her face. Her mouth hung half open as tears streamed down her cheeks.

A meek “Yes" escaped the wolf's lips. She started moving again, with fast and deliberate motions, as he gripped her tighter. “Your body! Agh!"

He roared. Not a strong roar, like that of the mythical lions of the faraway savannahs, or of fearsome bears from the thickest Woodland forests, but one full of desperation, longing, and grief, his voice cracking as he told her, “I love your body!"

Their embrace locked them together. He flooded her, and waves of heat burned through her as all senses peaked in a thunderous pleasure.

That instant was everything.

And in that instant she wanted her whole being to vaporize into a light mist so that he could breathe her whole being in, and she wished for them both to turn to sand and for their grains to mix so that they could be crushed by the weight of the Earth into the hardest of marble, and she wanted the world to collapse into a miniscule point of infinite matter so that they could be nothing and one at the same time.

But seconds passed, and their heaving quieted down.

It was ending.

No, a moment longer.

Half an hour, one minute, a single second.

Just one more infinite instant before the dream ended.

She held onto him like he could slip from her grasp, and it felt like his embrace was the only thing stopping her from drifting away.

But it did not matter: dawn was coming, and its tide would have swept them both away, and who could know when, or if, they would've been able to truly meet again.

Wringing her hands while cuddled up against him, she asked, “What is your name?"

Silence.

“Tell me, please."

“I don't have one." He got up, and her head fell against the mattress.

“Let me name you."

“Call me whatever you want, like everyone does. It doesn't matter."

In that instant, as if a vision penetrated her mind, she saw a Woodland in flames and in ruin, littered with death, the Marquisate gone, Le Monde de Cat shattered, old powers buried, new orders and tongues coming and going, and before the memory of that image escaped her, she wondered how she was going to find her wolf after the end of the World without knowing his name.

He stood there, a few moments later, with his armor on— that ugly, dirty thing— and his dried, clean clothes. Somehow, he didn't even smell like orange anymore. But his face. His face was still soft. She still wanted to kiss him. She was still dreaming, the Sun watching her, but the Ranger was not: he had woken up.

Now was a better time to ask, despite the possibility of the question annoying him.

“Will you not tell me why you couldn't bathe?"

He sighed, bothered. “I was hunting near the edge of the forest and killed a guy. I carried his body over my shoulder to hide him somewhere deeper into the forest. That is why I was… dirty with blood. But some locals were already on me and found me quickly. I was chased by some guards. I managed to hide, but patrols were around all day. Had no time to bathe."

“Why did you kill him?"

“He had tried to take the deer I had hunted."

She froze. The wolf of passion and love she had spent the night with was gone.

Where was her dream?

He looked out the window, “See you soon."

Her tone was cold. “I hope so."

“Goodbye."

“Goodbye."

He was gone.

Where was life? She had traded it, some time far into the past, without even knowing how, but in that moment she couldn't figure out for what.

---

A few knocks on the bedroom door.

“Your Grace, are you awake?"

knocks and words made her brain ache.

A deep breath.

“Come in."

The door opened, and through it came a vixen with dark orange fur and grey eyes.

It was Pavane, Connétable of the Woodland, and one of the Marquisate's best assets: intelligent and well-spoken, native yet loyal to the aristocracy and its vision, but also loved by the people for her sunny demeanor, generosity, and pragmatism. She was one of the Marquise's closest friends, and so enraptured by the wave of novelty Le Monde had brought to the Woodland she had even changed her name.

“Sorry to disturb you so early, your Grace, but, uhm…"

The fox noticed her Lady, sitting on the bed, was still naked. She hid back behind the door while looking away.

“I'm sorry, it can wait a few more minutes! I— I just know you wake up at dawn, so…"

The cat sighed. “Come in. It does not matter. I'll get dressed. What is it?"

Pavane entered the room and closed the door behind herself, flustered by the nakedness of her Marquise.

“W-well, alright." She produced a folded-up piece of paper from her embroidered pouch and opened it. “The Woodland Alliance operative center in Blueroost was stormed by our unit tonight, and their chief was captured. Fifteen dead total, three of them our gendarmes."

Marcie opened her wardrobe and slipped on a black tunic.

The fox continued, “Of course, the local lieutenant publicly announced a search would be conducted before any action was taken, but the Alliance members resisted. Nobody seemed to care much; seemingly no outrage came of it. Maybe the local Lieutenant is simply doing a good job at communicating how much of a danger to peace and goodness the Alliance is…"

“You think?" She finished dressing, clipping her purple cloak around her neck. “Or maybe they were just scared of a group of gendarmes armed to the teeth to show they cared?"

“Well… he said nobody has been reporting complaints about the administration—"

“Well, obviously, why would anyone waltz into one of our buildings telling us how much they hate us? What do the informants say?"

“He… hasn't been using them. He said open hearings would be enough."

“Ugh. What a moron. Order him to use undercover probes to actually listen to what the people say, like he was instructed to do."

“Yes, of course."

The two got out of the room and descended down the granite stairs of the tower. Pavane continued, “Anyway, to keep it short, we have the Alliance chief from Blueroost here right now. He was brought in just about an hour ago, and many of their documents as well were taken here, to the keep, for further analysis. Of course, you may consult them yourself with some of the officers. They were hoping you'd join them soon, so that's why I came."

“Thank you, Pavane. Tell them I'll be in the dungeons in a few moments; they can keep working and interrogating the chief while waiting for my arrival. Anything else I should know of?"

The two arrived in a large courtyard, on which many doors opened: an important node in the keep. The Sun was low in the sky but still seemed brighter than ever.

“Other news is rather average— nothing urgent. A military tribunal sentenced a dissident to death in the Oakes clearing; the Tesselberry Lieutenant sent some updated numbers on the locals; a new path and bridge started construction between Sunray and Mèrebleu— you might want to check in with Marion de Ypréau for the budgeting on that—"

“Alright. Thank you. You can leave the report in my office; I'll read it after this Alliance business. Oh, and could you tell someone to clean the bathtub in my room, please?"

“Of course! I'll send a servant right away." The fox started walking away.

Suddenly, the Marquise realized that water was probably still very dirty, much dirtier than it would have been if she had actually bathed in it.

“Pavane! Pavane… Actually, I'll do it myself later. Don't bother a servant with it."

“Oh… Are you sure?"

“Yes, and managing Keep resources is not part of your duties anyway, so you can't know where servants are actually needed and meant to be. Let's keep the world orderly."

“Ahah, of course, Marquise. I'll see you in the dungeons."

The Marquise stood alone, in the middle of the trimmed grass and well-kept trees.

She looked up at the bright sky. It was as if the light cut effortlessly through her fur and burned her skin directly.

She was awake, and yet something within her searched for the simple joy of a few moments prior, when she was with someone she liked— the wolf from the woods— before he disappeared and, in his place, was put the monster the Marquise knew so well from the reports of nearby clearings. Where was her wolf?

Where was Marcie? She had vanished, and in her place had appeared the Marquise, the despot, the plotter, ready to torture a prisoner to maintain dominance over the Woodland.

Maybe it was the dazzling light of that morning that, by painfully irritating her eyes, forcefully illuminated in her memory what sounded so liberating earlier that night: that she was her body, and nothing else. Marcie and Marquise, dreamer and despot: the same object, a lump of matter, which could appear as such different shapes depending on whether it was illuminated by the light of the Sun or the light of the stars.

Now, the dream seemed hollow, and the thing called Marcie, Marquise, cat, tyrant, cheater, wife, lover appeared as one: one horrifying, monstrous whole.

As she thought this, she didn't expect herself to enjoy her dream ever again.