Chapter 1075: The Cat is Awake [Part 3]

Chapter 1075 – The Cat is Awake [Part 3]

Runa hissed.

She did not mean to.

It escaped her tiny traitorous mouth.

A sharp, offended sound.

Both Lux and the dragon woman looked toward her.

Runa’s entire body locked.

Lux’s eyes gleamed faintly. "There she is."

Runa turned and fled.

Well.

Fled was generous.

She slipped away with all the dignity her trembling cat body could afford, which was very little. Her paws skidded across polished floor. Her tail swayed wildly behind her. The body knew how to move, but her mind did not. Every step was a negotiation between sorcerer pride and feline mechanics.

She dashed down the hall.

Behind her, Lux’s voice came calmly. "Don’t run too fast. Your vessel is unstable."

She hissed again without looking back.

The audacity.

The concern.

The accuracy.

All insulting.

She rounded a corner, darted through a half-open side door, and entered another hallway.

Freedom! Possibly.

The mansion was too large. Too many corridors.

Absurd house.

She kept moving.

Then... Thunk!

Runa slammed into something.

Her tiny body bounced backward and landed on her side.

Pain flashed through her ribs.

For one mortifying second, she lay there with all four paws stiff in the air.

This was beneath her.

She rolled clumsily back to her paws, ears flattened, and glared upward.

A servant stood in front of her.

Human-shaped.

Neat uniform.

Blank face.

Polite posture.

But not flesh.

Runa knew flesh. Knew bone. Knew breath. Knew the layered warmth of living bodies.

This thing had none of that.

She had not bumped into a leg.

She had bumped into wood.

Carved wood beneath illusion-skin.

Magic joints.

Quiet gears.

A puppet.

The servant looked down. "Small guest detected," it said in a calm voice.

Runa stared.

The servant’s face was polite.

She looked past it.

Another servant crossed the hall carrying folded linens.

Same face.

Then another holding a tray.

Same face.

Then another dusting a decorative table.

Same face.

Runa’s fur rose.

Puppets.

All of them.

Servant puppets.

This demon owned puppet servants with identical faces.

The nearest puppet tilted its head. "Do you require assistance, small guest?"

Runa hissed so hard her whole body shook.

Assistance?

She required answers, vengeance, a proper body, and maybe a dignified cloak. Not assistance from haunted furniture.

She bolted under its legs.

The puppet did not chase. "Small guest is mobile," it announced softly.

Traitorous wooden stool in human clothing.

Runa found a glass door leading outside and shoved her body through the narrow gap where it had not fully closed.

Cold fresh air hit her.

Good.

Better.

Outside was safer.

Outside had sky.

Grass.

Wind.

Places to hide.

Runa limped into the garden.

Then stopped.

No, this was not better.

The garden was beautiful.

That was the first problem.

Dangerous things loved being beautiful.

Moon-pale flowers glowed under shaded trees. Thorned vines curled along black iron arches. Red blossoms pulsed faintly like tiny hearts. Silver leaves shimmered with poison dew. Black lilies opened and closed slowly as if breathing. A row of violet mushrooms whispered to each other in a language Runa did not appreciate understanding.

This was not a garden.

This was a murder collection arranged aesthetically.

Every plant carried some form of toxin, curse, predatory instinct, sleeping effect, paralytic venom, blood-drinking root system, or suspiciously affectionate vine behavior.

Runa stared.

Then slowly turned around to go back inside.

A vine shifted behind her.

She froze.

A woman stood in the middle of the garden.

Okay, not stood.

Tended.

She knelt beside a bed of black roses, stroking their petals with maternal fondness. Her skin had the faint green undertone of something too close to plants to be human. Long hair spilled down her back like tangled dark vines. Her dress looked woven from leaves, shadows, and the regrets of men who underestimated botany.

Runa did not know the name, but she knew the type.

A plant woman.

A crazy plant woman.

The worst kind.

The kind who spoke to poisonous flowers like children and would absolutely call a strangling vine "shy."

"My sweet little bloodbuds," the woman murmured. "No biting unless they step past the line."

One of the red flowers shivered happily.

Runa’s pupils narrowed.

Line? What line?

There were no visible lines!

The plant woman turned her head slightly.

Runa held still. Completely still.

She was small. Orange. Silent. A master of stealth.

Probably.

The woman’s eyes softened. "Oh?"

No.

Runa slowly backed up.

The plant woman smiled. "Well, hello, little one."

No. No hello.

Runa had once shattered siege wards and burned three mage generals until they apologized in smoke. She would not be "little one" by a woman watering venom orchids.

Veyra rose gracefully.

The plants around her moved with her.

That was the problem.

They all moved.

Runa hissed.

Veyra placed a hand over her heart. "Oh, angry baby."

Angry baby?

ANGRY BABY????

If Runa had possessed her full body, she would have carved that phrase into the sky and dropped it onto the woman’s flowerbed.

Instead, she produced a furious squeak. "Mrrrr!"

Veyra’s smile widened. "So cute."

Runa turned and ran.

Behind her, Veyra called gently, "Careful. The left path has dream nettles."

Runa swerved right immediately.

"The right path has jealous ivy."

Runa skidded.

A vine curled toward her, heart-shaped leaves trembling with suspicious enthusiasm.

Nope. Absolutely not.

She leapt sideways into a patch of soft moss.

The moss sighed.

Runa froze.

The moss sighed.

Why did the moss sigh?

From the mansion behind her, voices rose faintly.

"She went outside?"

"That garden is Veyra’s."

"Oh no."

"That sounds bad."

"She’ll be fine."

"Lux, your definition of fine is criminal."

Runa’s ears flattened.

They were coming.

She needed to hide.

Fast.

She darted beneath a low shrub with silver-black leaves and ducked into the shadows.

The shrub immediately folded its branches around her like a curtain.

Runa tensed.

But it did not squeeze.

It simply hid her.

Unexpected.

Suspicious, but useful.

She crouched beneath it, breathing hard.

Her weak body trembled. Her paws ached. The sorcerer soul inside her burned too bright for the small vessel, and the original cat’s instincts kept mixing with her own thoughts in horrifying ways.

Hide.

Run.

Scratch.

Sleep.

Warm.

Wait, no. Not warm.

Revenge.