"Cat Cafe"

That's all it says, neatly plastered on a standing sign outside the cafe doors. It's the early hours of the morning; Spring is beginning to groggily rear its head, breathing its first murmurs of warmth. And this sign is simply propped outside the cafe, as if it warranted no explanation at all. The letters in which it's written are a sight far cutesier than ever before seen at the cafe, with the first 'C' being adorned with a rolling tail and the 'E' wearing a pair of triangular ears. It's an eye-grabbing display, and certainly an anomaly under the golden sky. It incites a certain curiosity, questions of "What could that possibly mean?" - questions that want not to go unanswered.

But, if someone is so diligent to be up and about so early, then they will have to wait for such questions to be answered. Because, just inside the cafe, they're only now making the preparations.

---

Veliky paces back and forth, hands clasped behind her back, in that military etiquette that she so often uses. Though her strides are wide, it is nevertheless a journey forward, every time, before she turns around and marches back again. She's in her apartment, which unfortunately must act as the prep room due to spatial limitations.

Of course, a pacing Veliky is an ordinary sight, but what is not so ordinary is what she's pacing in front of. Hanging from a rack are three dresses of black and white, complete with bows and frills aplenty. The contrast between their style and Veliky's is so vast that it practically forms a canyon. They're specifically sized, as well: two for folks of some ordinary stature, and one for someone quite a bit larger.

"So. It's self-explanatory, really." she lies. "You just do everything a waitress normally does. You'll work the dining room, taking orders and cleaning tables. Except that you'll be wearing these."

She gestures to the three uniforms. And indeed, the sizes of these uniforms seem perfectly suited to the three individuals that Veliky has summoned. As usual, there was all the circumstance and little the pomp when it came to her request: work at the cafe for a day, testing some "experimental marketing technique." As usual, she gave little explanation aside from a pay grade (a decent one, to be fair). And as usual, accepting her request has already led to something so peculiar that one must wonder if it truly came from the little entrepreneur's totalitarian mind. That is, one *would* wonder this if there weren't a far more pressing question to be asked: just what does any of this have to do with cats?

As if hearing this unspoken question, Veliky stops in her pacing tracks and lets in a long, congested sniff. "...Well, there is more to it. But that can wait. For now, any questions?"

She turns to face the trio that will apparently be in her employ for the day. Stranger a trio could nary be found, especially working at whatever a "cat cafe" might be. Her eyes betray little; only a wordless promise - one that even she is oblivious to - that this is going to be a weird, weird day.

---

Bringing Minions
Genesis (Book Golem)
Gutter-04 {Corsair}
Rook-14 {Warlord}

Bringing Pets
Stalker-03 (Prismatic Spider)
Vienda (Flitten)

Cyran had taken odd jobs before. A killer for hire could not often afford to be picky about the sort of jobs they took - often times, it was better just to grin and bear it, and try not to think too hard about the direction one’s blade was pointed in, or the odd things one had to do to finish the job.

This particular request, though…

Cyran wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He’d known Miss Veliky for some time now. A tentative friendship, one might call it. He honestly wasn’t sure if she truly liked him, or only put up with him because of her fondness for Cirice that she tried to bury under layers of cold indifference. She could hide those sentiments from Cyran no easier than she could hide the wooden friendship bracelet that Cyran caught glimpses of from time to time when she moved and her sleeve shifted. He’d sent her brief letters before, and small gifts in his desire to get to know her better. But it was difficult to truly gauge how she felt about him. For that reason, her recruitment of him for this particular job.

For starters, Cyran was not a businessman. Nor did he think he had a pretty enough face to market in the way Miss Veliky explained he would be doing, especially compared to the two women on either side of him. Both much younger, with ethereal features and fine faces that would suit those dresses much better than him. If one neglected the strange eye and tattoo on his face, he still did not have much of a presence. He held his tongue up until the moment Veliky finished her explanation before raising his hand.

“I’m still not quite sure why I’m here… surely someone else would be a better fit in this position.” Cyran admitted, confusion evident in his voice.

"Hmph." Veliky's response is preceded with a scoff. "I guess all those stories about The Specter and his ability to change appearances at will are all false, then?"

Her tone is obviously facetious, but she slumps her shoulders nonetheless.

"That's unfortunate. That sort of ability would be extremely useful here..."

Cyran’s heart stuttered at the use of his alias, but neither the druid woman nor the young, white-haired woman seemed to recognize it. Still, there was a moment he appeared oddly bashful.

“I’m sure the rumors are greatly exaggerated…” He mumbled. But he didn’t want to disappoint Veliky, and he could really use the money. “Nevertheless, I shall give it my all.”

… At least in this job I don’t have to kill anything, save for perhaps my dignity.

He’d done far worse for far less payment.

Cyran sighed and grabbed one of the gowns off the hanger and breezing back into one of the bathrooms to change.

The gown in particular that he’d picked was especially frilly, one with white lace hanging from the sleeves and cinching the waist. A purple bow was tied around the frilly lace collar, accentuating the cutout where one’s bosom was meant to be shown off. Not to mention the skirt was cut off at the knee, showing off the long, black socks that had come with the shirt.

Cyran felt his face turn red.

Am I really supposed to go around serving customers in this thing?

Getting the costume on was the easy part. Once he had it on, Cyran closed his eyes and concentrated until his appearance began to change. The differences were slight at first, until his frame changed to better suit the dress. In a moment, his - or her- transformation had nearly completed. This next part would be a little tricky. With a little bit of concentration, a pair of black car ears sprouted from her head, and a black and silver from her tail. Both nonfunctional, but enough to complete the look of whatever a ‘cat cafe’ was selling.^[1]

Once she was finished, Cyran returned to the others.

“… Is this really something that will draw in clientele?” She asked, skeptical.

---

1. One with the Cosmos (Astral Soul I)

One of the key things Einheria has come to understand about the world is that money is far more elusive than one might think.

When she had first asked for information about Skuld's three treasures in that tiny tavern in the Pale City all those months ago, she'd been answered with a harsh, raucous laugh and a question of if she had the sort of money to throw around in exchange for answers, as though they were as much a commodity as silken gowns and jewelry sequestered behind a store's window. She had been puzzled, then, unable to wrap her head around why anyone would wish to charge money in exchange for information, and further unable to understand why anyone would choose their purse over compassion.

She understands better now, all this time later, after becoming acquainted with bloodstains against her thin fingers, after learning to cleave through man and monster alike, after learning that her glaive can draw forth coin far faster than she can seek out answers. She has learned of the things men will do to line their purses, no matter the nobility of their goal, and she has learned to delve to those levels, too. She has learned to do all manner of things if it means she will be answered with coin, for coin in her hand is a step closer to finding information about Lady Skuld's so-called treasures, a step closer to breaking the unearthly sleep her father has been lost in for centuries.

And yet, of all the things she has offered to do for the sake of Solars, whatever plan she has been drawn into now may very well be one of the strangest.

Customer service is not something Einheria has ever been asked to do, and yet, Lady Veliky stands before her and speaks to her and the two people beside her as if they were made for such a job, her tone firm but insouciant as she lays forth a simplified summary of what they're expected to do-- to handle the floor of a cafe, all while wearing... maid uniforms, it seems, if the sight of ruffles and aprons is indicative enough. It is an odd request, but she is sure Veliky has her reasons for requiring such a thing...!

"Ah, I am afraid I lack any experience in such a thing, L-- Veliky," she says softly, pensively, though she manages a smile all the same. "But just as the good sir beside me just said, I too shall give this my all."

Einheria stands patiently as she watches the elven man with hair like a shadow reach for one of the hangers, waiting until he seems satisfied with what he's picked up before she steps forward as well, glancing between the remaining options. One is a rich forest green in color, in a shade and size she highly doubts she could pull off, while the other is a longer dress adorned with lace and ribbons, all in the soft, cold pastels that better complement her complexion.

Naturally, she hardly thinks twice before going for the latter, slipping away to trade her winter garb for the uniform she's been given.

It does not take long, thankfully-- she manages to trade out her typical blue dress for the maid's uniform in good time, quick to emerge and scamper right back to the apartment's heart, where Veliky, the uncannily tall woman, and the elven m-- woman remain.

"Oh!" she exclaims, surprise flashing in her eyes as they land upon the elf, though she does her best to train it back into the same neutrality she's so carefully maintained this whole time. It would be rude to stare, no matter how surprising it is to see such a drastic change in another person, after all. "You look lovely...! Ah..."

She falters, then, eyes drawn to the twitching ears at the top of the elven woman's head.

"...Lady Veliky, are the cat ears required as part of the uniform, too?"

The little woman called Veliky, however, appears to bear no qualms about staring. While her stare isn't lecherous or malicious, it certainly might be interpreted as what one might call 'rude.'

...And then a little smirk -- a little, smug-looking smirk -- appears on her face.

"We can talk about that later." she answers. But it's only after answering that she takes her eyes away from Cyran and looks to the other two. "Any more questions?"

It’s been a few weeks since Veliky and she had parted ways in the Lantern Light Woods.

Highlighted by gentle cyan illumination, the little blonde woman had offered her a small sanctuary in the apartment above her cafe in Sol City, should she need it after their encounter with the druid. It felt bittersweet to part with the quarterling; though her disposition was oft-frosty, and her icy eyes held little warmth; she knows quite intimately that isn’t entirely true.

If she were to compare Veliky to what she understands best, she would compare her to an Aquilegia: strong and sturdy, with her delicate roots planted amongst barren stone; yet, she will reach for the sky, blooming despite all which tries to hold her back. She admires that about her: the way she stands strong in the face of what is thrown at her, her endurance to hold strong, but…

Sylva’s fingertips trace the outline of a leaf as she pulls away; naturally, her fingertips fall to a ring on her right hand; she spirals it between her fingers, feeling the cool metal glide effortlessly against her olive-toned skin.

What a lonely path she leads.

It’s about this time that Sylva hears a small fuss; she lifts her eyes, turning to glance at the Smorelings and Mosslets who have grown excited. Water glubs and shifts in the container of the watering can as a few of the Mosslets bounce, followed by a few of the Smorelings, and repeat: laughter escapes Sylva’s lips, and she breezes over to the countertop to take the watering can before the Smorelings and Mosslets spill water everywhere. “What is it?” She prompts; their little eyes look back at her, and she watches them bounce about excitedly on the counter when she hears a click at the door.

The excitement of the little creatures grows, and Sylva feels a flutter in her chest as she turns her head up, watering can held between her hands. Before Veliky can finish opening the door, the Smorelings and Mosslets are pouring over the countertop like a little waterfall to greet her; and the moment she sets foot through the threshold, she’s mobbed by dozens of excited, bubbling sprites. Delighted trills and chirps reverberate through the quiet of the apartment, echoed by the birdsong of Sylva’s warm laughter.

Her apartment has changed only slightly: it’s a little bit lived in, with Sylva having been staying here for almost a week, now. A beautiful vase of flowers sits blooming on her kitchenette table, the pathos and its vines twisted across marble countertops, its green and lime speckled leaves displayed proudly.

“Welcome home, Mistress Veliky.” Sylva greets from the kitchen; she sets the watering can down, skirt sweeping against her ankles as she paces from the kitchen towards the doorway. “I am glad to see you back safely; how was your trip?”

Amidst the mound of green and white, little more of Veliky can be seen than her tiny, rounded face. The wide-eyed fright with which Veliky watched their stampede has faded into resignation.

“Sylva… Told you to keep them in the jar. It’ll take ages to round them up, now…” Her voice is laced with quiet frustration, but Sylva can feel her embarrassment through the ring⁽¹⁾. And if she couldn’t, the redness in the little quarterling’s face would tell her soon enough.

One of the mosslets, perched upon her shoulder, extends its arms to either side and hugs as much of Veliky’s cheek as it can. Perhaps it’s drawn to the heat that’s rising in her face.

Sylva can feel the embarrassment through the ring; and she can’t help but smile warmly as she stoops down to kneel in front of Veliky. “My apologies, Mistress Veliky— I was having them help me water the plants. I thought it would be good for them to have a little air. Come now, give her some space. She just got home, I’m sure she’s very tired.” She speaks over excited trills and peeps; and once some of the Smorelings and Mosslets listen to her, the rest follow in a little tidal wave of green and white, forming a semi-circle around Veliky at the doorway.

Save for one little Mosslet, who remains perched quite contently on her shoulder. Veliky’s eyes are wide in earnest surprise as she watches the scampering swarm. With a careful finger and thumb, she plucks the Mosslet from her shoulder and holds it before her; looking into its shining, green eyes…

“They actually listen to you when you talk to them…?”

It wraps its arms around her thumb, and she looks away as her embarrassment spikes again.

Sylva can’t help but laugh, covering her lips with her fingertips. “Only sometimes,” she admits, “They follow one another…. Like ants. If one goes, most of them will follow the leader; and without a leader, they get a bit hectic and all over the place… They also seem… confused by complexity… and when they get distracted, they go back to being mischievous. Oh, but they’re so very lovable.” She smiles, reaching out to brush her fingertips against a nearby Smoreling; it clings onto her, its little legs kicking when she lifts it into the air.

She sets it onto the palm of her other hand, crafting a small blue bloom from the fingertips of her opposite; she sets the bloom on the ground near the Smorelings and Mosslets, and sets the singular Smoreling near it. “Will you take this to the kitchen, please?”

The Smoreling looks at her, then the bloom, back to her, and then commits to the flower. It can’t seem to carry it, but after a moment of effort, a few of the Mosslets and Smorelings nearby notice it straining; followed by a few more, and then a few more, until the babbling half-circle around Veliky dwindles into a focused single-file line to carry a single bloom into the kitchenette. A few Mosslets and Smorelings who can’t quite get into the bundle linger about, immediately scurrying to bounce and bob about Veliky once more— but the crowd has dwindled enough to allow Veliky entrance into her own home.

Sylva smiles at the quarterling before she rises to her feet. “Thank you again for allowing me to stay here, Mistress Veliky… I hope you don’t mind the few additions… I wanted to thank you somehow for all of your kindness.”

As if she hadn't noticed them before - and, indeed, perhaps she hadn't amidst the attack of the diminutive horde - the sight of the little army's burden-bloom and the hint of Sylva's words draw Veliky's eyes to the flora that's newly blossomed about the room. Since she'd last been here, the room has changed dramatically. The air feels cleaner, but...

No change quite so prominent as the presence of the woman before her, and the gentle aura that this woman brings.

Veliky rises to her feet, though's careful not to harm any of the little passengers aboard her, who cling to her clothes and perform little acrobatics upon her shoulders. She's holding her arms up; as if she'd just emerged, drenched, from an unforeseen splash in a pool. Clearly, she's trying to think of the easiest way to harmlessly be rid of them.

But then, she just lets out a sigh and steps further into the room, still riddled with bouncing bundles of energy.

"It's okay, I don't mind. And..." she acquiesces, but then turns away from the dryad's eyes that burn with such verdant softness. "You don't need to call me that, you know."

“Hm?” Sylva pauses midstep, her verdant gaze drifting back towards Veliky; a tiny puff of bemusement escapes between her lips, seeing her staring towards the baseboards with excited sprites dangling from every part of her clothing they can get their tiny little hands on. “What is it that you’d rather I call you?” She asks sincerely.

Something about her earnest bemusement seems to soothe Veliky, who finally begins the long trek to one of two chairs at the tiny dining table where she might sit and relax after a long, difficult journey. She stops only just before climbing onto the seat, looking over her shoulder and at the towering Sylva.

“Veliky is okay. Just Veliky.”

---

Sylva opens her eyes.

 

It's funny the difference between that Veliky, and this one: it's not necessarily a switch in behaviour, but a lapse in the masquerade of her real feelings, isn't it?

Amongst the trio which has gathered together in Veliky’s apartment sits the arboreal woman; and upon first glance, it’s quite obvious which of the frilled, ribboned gowns is meant for her. With her pine-hued skirts draping over her ankles, Sylva sits with her knees angled in the very same chair near the kitchenette; but it does little hide her tall frame, nor the true height of her stature.

The elven dryad sits with a naive air of innocence as she listens to the small, rhythmic steps of the pacing quarterling. She traces the lid of a jar seemingly full of marshmallows on the countertops with her index finger, smiling fondly at the little pink eyes that peer back at her with a familiar curiosity: though it hadn’t been all too long ago, it still brings her back to the earlier morning, washing fondness through the ring on her finger— one which seems almost out of place on her otherwise natural appearance.

“Veliky,” The woman’s name feels a bit odd without the addressor, “What all does a waiter do?” Sylva’s question rings out airily. “Seating and cleaning tables… is that all?”

It's strange, having someone's emotions linked so intimately to yours⁽¹⁾; Veliky is learning this, swiftly. Sylva's fondness, in turn, has sparked some embarrassment in Veliky, who hides it as best she can by subtly hiding her face behind her leather glove.

The awkwardness with which she stands, however, is not so easily hidden; and it's a strange sight to Cyran and Ein, who saw and felt nothing transpire to invoke such discomfort.

"I'll... I'll give you a private training session, before we open shop."

Sylva nods her agreement with an omnipresent smile; and like the two strangers who now occupy Veliky’s apartment, gathered amongst blooming decor and twisting pothos, Sylva will rise and change into the requested outfit with nary a further complaint. She doesn’t quite understand this plan… but she knows cats, and she knows cafes. Although, the outfit… as she steps out, she can’t help but feel a bit self-conscious.

Lace bounces just above her knee as she steps out, a black ribbon around her waist untied and held between her hands sheepishly— seemingly unable to tie it on the gown alone— yet, as she sees the other two, her verdant gaze twinkles.

“Oh my,” the compliment comes genuinely, a breath of awe in the way she speaks; she tilts her head, olive-painted lips curling up at the edges as she looks between Cyran and Einheria. “You both look beautiful.” From the strands of leaf-like hair pops out a little Mosslet, its big green eyes looking about quizzically at those gathered there as it clumsily sits itself on Sylva’s shoulder. “I hate to ask…” Sylva sheepishly holds out the thick black ribbon in her hands. “…Would one of you be kind enough to tie this for me? I am still not used to the frills and laces which come with Sol City’s fashion sense...”

---

^{(1) Eternity Ring(s)}

One by one, Veliky watches as the uniquely beautiful ladies (excepting Cyran, who would return as such) walk into the bathroom and return transformed into the refined image of a traditional maid. She looks to Einheria, whose alabaster hair rivals even the pureness of the uniform's frills; and nods in approval. She looks to Cyran, whose bronze-like hue carries a special allure when contrasted against black fabric (and whose eagerness to don her 'accessories' is particularly amusing to Veliky); and nods again, albeit with a near-sadistic smirk. And Sylva... She's trying not to look too much at Sylva, for fear of losing focus. But if she were to look at Sylva, and way the skirt glides so delicately along the dryad's olive skin, she would certainly nod in approval -- and then look away with great expedience.

Gathered in this room are some of the most unique and powerful people in Charon: the infamous Spectre, whose efficiency in the trade of death has earned them such dreadful prestige; the nascent daughter of Nithoggr Vaetki, inheritor of tyrant-dragon's blood; and the arboreal emissary of the Hauntwood, who speaks for nature herself. And here they are, dressed as maids. It would be one of the most absurd things ever brought into occurrence if it weren't for what Veliky plans next...

...or, at least, what she'd *been* planning next. But alas, there was a reason that she hadn't properly answered Einheria's question, and that reason is because she doesn't quite have an answer yet. She thought she did, but now finds herself tapping her foot in impatience. While it isn't absolutely necessary - in fact, she did have a backup - it'd certainly aid them...

But then, there's a creak of an opening door. The door which leads downstairs, to the cafe, slowly opens, and Veliky's patience is rewarded as she sees a familiar face peeking through.

"S-S-Sorry, s-sorry I-I'm late!"

Barging in is a diminutive figure, only slightly larger than Veliky herself. Cyran recognizes he little gnome in an instant, though the recollection (fortunately) isn't mutual. Wearing her tawny ponytail; and signature, spiral-lensed glasses; is Veliky's eccentric head engineer, Yoci. And she comes in to the room, carrying a small collection of little, glass vials.

"I-I brought the-... W-Whoa..." she stumbles to a halt when she realizes that she's walked directly into a room full of lace-bound beauties. She looks up at them like a lost child, jaw slacked in bewilderment, seeming particularly surprised when she sees Cyran's feline features. But after this stupor, she's quick to snap out. "S-Sorry for interrupting!"

Like a technician in a stage play, the little inventor keeps her head low as she makes her way to her employer, whereupon she hands over the vials -- three, in total. Veliky calmly accepts them, with her only greeting toward Yoci being "Good." And as Veliky examines the vials, Yoci scampers to the sidelines, trying desperately to remain inconspicuous.

Within each glass vial is a fluid whose vibrant, aquamarine tinge brings to mind a certain nostalgia. Glowing faintly, they slosh about as Veliky examines them like a scrutinous jeweller.

...Despite her professional seeming, Veliky has little clue what she's looking at, save for the functionality that she requested. Really, she was only curious to see what it'd look like.

Finally, her examination complete, Veliky steps forward, but not before handing one of the vials back to Yoci. "We'll only need two. Store that one somewhere safe." The gnome glances to Cyran, and looks down with a smidge of embarrassment.

"Now," Veliky begins with an explanatory tone, "about that question Einheria asked: the answer is yes. Sylva, Ein, I'd like you each to drink one of these." As she explains, she walks past those respected, reaching up to hand each of them one of the little vials. "Our statistics show that people are more willing to spend money when either cats or maids are involved, so we decided to combine the concepts in an attempt to maximize business. These potions will give you some cat-like features, much like Cyran has so..." She barely stifles another smirk. "...generously demonstrated. Don't worry, it's temporary; it should only last until the end of your shifts."

In the corner of the room, dwarfed by the counter she stands beside, the little gnome seems to be deliberating on whether or not to say something. By the time it seems she's mustered the courage, the moment has long-since passed, and she's left twiddling her thumbs.

Cyran felt utterly ridiculous.

This situation was utterly ridiculous. She crossed her arms under her chest, still getting acclimated to being dressed in such frilly, feminine attire. Would customers really be pulled in by this gimmick? She wasn’t entirely sure where the appeal in looking like a cat-woman was for people, but she had a feeling that Veliky was definitely up to something strange here. Exactly what kind of customers were they expecting to see?

She was interrupted from her musings by the reappearance of a familiar face, though the sentiment was thankfully not shared. Yoci, the engineer, rushed into the room with the same nervous disposition that Cyran remembered. The ears on top of her head drooped momentarily at the reminder of her first meeting with the gnomish woman. Yoci barely seemed to spare her a passing glance, though, save the surprise at the feline features that she already manifested. Cyran watched curiously as Yoci handed Veliky a couple of vials, which were distributed to both Miss Einheria and Sylva.

Veliky smirked at Cyran.

Cyran flushed, tail bristling.

“… I saw there were no felines, so I made the only natural assumption.” She said, leveling Veliky with a stare that said, ‘I know what your intention is.’

Idly, though, at the mention of cats, she wondered where the little flitten was that Cyran had sent her. She hadn’t seen any trace of it… Cyran wondered if she even kept it. It seemed like a good gift at the time, but Cyran was not sure if Veliky was much for animals, and whether she would find the pet’s presence a nuisance rather than a balm.

She sighed, twirling with her hair.

“So what are we supposed to do?” They likely didn’t have much time before the customers started arriving - she was going to have to steel herself for the utterly mortifying ordeal of having people see her like this.

It’s a strange thing to feel so… delicate.

Einheria is distantly aware of the fact that she has always looked the part, of course– she’s small of stature and lithe of frame, pale and wispy as a late-autumn snowfall, like a porcelain ballerina perched on tiptoes at the heart of a music box. But she knows strength sleeps in her deceptively dainty limbs, that killing intent sings in her veins with all the fury of a snowstorm, her fury wrapped in lace and silk and ribbon. Others have learned of the power in the package firsthand, and in brutal fashion– her glaive has a bite like the harshest frosts, and her draconic strength moreso.

And yet, it is impossible to feel the reach of that strength in a garment like this– the entire thing is carefully crafted, with sparkling, patterned fabric layered over chiffon and taffeta, even the apron adorned with soft, tiny little ribbons. It feels like the slightest misstep may ruin the whole thing– unlike her own apparel, which is tailored to survive the whorl of combat. In one, she feels like a dancer, lovely and yet defined by strength– in the other, she feels like a doll.

She worries her lip between her teeth– careful to mind her canines as always– as she glances between Lady Cyran and Lady Veliky, still trying to piece together what plan is swirling in the latter’s brain, as a young gnomish woman emerges into the room, each word of hers marked by a stutter, an armful of crystal vials with a glistening teal liquid swirling within them– vials which Veliky promptly offers to both Einheria and Lady Sylva, explaining the transfigurative magic swirling within them.

“Oh!” she exclaims, blinking a few times as the realization dawns on her. “I see– we are intended to act as the titular cats! I have never heard of such a thing before. How novel.”

Einheria pauses, then, studying the vial with a skeptical edge to her gaze– feline features are a… strange thing to imagine on herself. She remembers what it’s like to bear the edge of fangs, of shimmering wings, of horns and tail and scales– to adopt the features of such a furry, helpless little creature opposes all she has ever known. What would change, beyond her physical traits? Would this bless her agility? Her senses? Is there more to this than mere cosmetics?

Well… there’s only one way to find out.

She hums quietly as she pops the cork of the vial, careful to set it somewhere it shan’t be lost, and downs the contents in one swift swig. For a moment, there is nothing beyond a gentle buzz in her system, something she could easily pass off as nerves– but then there’s a shift, a gentle discomfort flooding her spine, her skull–

And the next thing she knows, there’s a fluffy white tail emerging from the base of her spine, and two white, pointed ears at the top of her head.

“Oh my,” Einheria whispers, glancing down at herself in quiet surprise. “This is quite the strange experience.”