[b]Canada![/b]

You painstakingly match mirror shards to frames. It’s like a danger puzzle. The Cat insists that there’s a way to look at glass and [i]know[/i] where it belongs. You haven’t learned it yet, so there’s a lot of slapping your hand involved.

“I had to train. I had to learn.” Her eyes gleam as she watches you reach for another shard; you go unsmacked. “No kitten is born knowing how to hunt.”

Later, the rats have cannons, and strong opinions about becoming food. You hunker down behind a makeshift barricade while the Cat dares them to fire at her, her wickedly sharp teeth gleaming.

“Hunger! No one who is satisfied with the world as it is can ever fight. It will not arrange itself for you, Canada! When you let hunger spur you on, then you may change the world to your liking.”

Today, the secrets are drawn in violet ink on the wings of butterflies. You must act with deliberate care to avoid crushing them when you catch them in your hands. The Cat eats each one after reading the wings.

“They succumbed to the hunger that does not stop. A throne is a cage, [i]mon ami.[/i] They gorge themselves and grow hungrier. What a waste.”

A flick of an elegant tail. The crunch of butterfly bones(?) under white teeth.

“The more you gain, the more vigilant you must be to see that it is not taken from you. But you already know that, don’t you? [i]Cherchez la femme![/i]”

***

[b]Anathet![/b]

The click of chitin on a marble desk. Your own chair is uncomfortable, cramped, and hard, all by design. The office is choking with floral scents and incense, and you’re quite thankful how much of it your veil keeps out.

“I recall entrusting you with a duty,” Auntie Rose says, her raspy whisper dripping with menace. Her eyes are hard as coals. “Pray tell, why were you found at a den of ill repute in the places below? Are you not [i]enjoying[/i] your privilege of direct service?”

At least you likely managed to save the bar! After you revealed your ownership, getting you home very quickly became a priority. And, hey, you’ve still got a date, as long as Auntie Rose doesn’t ground you! Or worse.

(And maybe even then, if you’re clever and lucky.)

***

[b]Tamytha![/b]

You ache. You are dizzy, and the ropes bite where they suspend you from the pole. You want to wake up and find this was all a dream. But here you are, left as bait for the savage humans so that Jezcha can get her trophies. Your head lolls bonelessly as your blood goes thin and you drift in and out of sense.

“Ohmygosh and goodness!”

You lift your head, mouth dry. “Little star, run,” you rasp, but even you can barely hear it. Your heart tightens in your chest as she (bedraggled, frightened— what did they do to her?) runs forward with your pistol. Oh, oh! No, [i]lamassie,[/i] you silly little thing! You close your eyes and flinch, unable to watch Jezcha shoot her again.

There is firing and screaming. And... your little star keeps screaming. And then she’s here, she’s here, how could all those shots have missed? What is Jezcha playing at? But she’s here and trying to undo those painful knots pressing into you with all the strength of gravity.

“[i]Lamassie,[/i]” you manage to force out between dry lips, “you’re such, such, [i]such[/i] a good girl.” Then you look up, and see Jezcha advancing, rifle raised to her shoulder, aimed at your little pet. You scream a warning for all that it hurts your throat, nudge her with your knee, and she turns just as Jezcha fires.

It barely misses both of you, embedding itself in the pole inches from your feet. And Jezcha already has another shot in the chamber.

“How [i]dare[/i] you,” your sister roars at your pet. Another shot, this one firing wide in her fury. “I’ll have you shut up in the Houses of Correction [i]forever![/i]”

If she catches your [i]lamassie,[/i] she will hand your beloved pet over to the Inquisitors and you’ll never get to see her again. She’ll be punished and taught her place and given to somebody else. Your stomach twists.

“Please, please,” you beg, but you know better than to ask anything of Jezcha. “[i]Run, lamassie![/i]” But [i]lamassie[/i] tugs desperately at the central suspension knot, and you tumble down into her arms, nearly knocking her to the ground. Which...

Which has given Jezcha time to line up another shot.