A series of thumps and angry hissing began to float into the room from outside. I took a moment to carefully arrange my vignette in front of the blazing fireplace. Each hair in place, lobes sparkling, and perfectly posed with one foot up on an old chair and an ass rimlit by flames, I knew any man, or cat boy, would be both intimidated and titillated by this silhouette. 

“Oh shit!” I said as I realized I forgot something. I quickly dashed across the room to retrieve an apple and then get back in the pose before Boggy threw the prisoner roughly through the doorframe.

”Reeeooow!!” He landed prostrate on the floorboards. Boggy had tied him up most thoroughly, with his hands behind his back, the rope crisscrossing his lean chest and drawing his shirt tight over his pecs. What was left of it, anyway—much had been torn away in the initial struggle to capture him, leaving his pale midriff woefully exposed. Unable to pull them up, his tight black leather trousers sunk just below his hips. He moaned, kitty cat ears twitching.

I pulled my silver pocketknife out from my boot and began to carve off the red skin of the apple. Slowly.

“Hello, Obie,” I drawled.

The cat boy spat and rose to his knees. There was a little blood coming from his nose. “What do you want, witch?”

Boggy chortled henchmanly and settled himself in a chair in the corner. “He doesn’t even know.”

”Quiet, Boggy,” I snapped. “Obie isn’t that stupid. Are you, Obie?”

His slitted eyes followed the apple skin as it spiraled off of my knife blade. Juice dribbled down my long, perfectly manicured fingies. I hoped it was suggestive of something to him, one way or the other.

“I will never tell you how to get to Archer,” he said quietly. “The ocean tides will still and freeze over. The wind will fizzle to a whisper and be forgotten. The very sun will wink out and harden to rock before I tell you how to get to Archer Flamewheel.”

Why was he so loyal to her?! What redeeming qualities did that little arrow-knocking brat possess? More importantly, what did she have that I, Andromeda, didn’t? Yes, she had always had a brilliant mind for mathematics—possibly one of the foremost mathematical thinkers of our generation, if only she had a shred of confidence to use it. And yes, I had always been jealous of that. But surely, when it came to masculine attention, that was no match for my lobes?

“Tell me!” I snarled, kicking the chair over. It crashed to the ground with a loud…crash. I bared my teeth, leering over the prisoner, his eyes fearful and defiant as my shadow covered him entirely. I knocked him to the floorboards and he gasped as I ground my knee into his solar plexus. 

I jammed the knife up under his chiseled jawline, just tickling the soft skin there. “You tell me now, Oblegaimon,” I whispered, “and I will release you from your cat curse.”

Obie’s eyes widened. I felt his quick hot breath on my face. It smelled of Fancy Feast. He opened his mouth to speak—

”Sweetie!” came a singsong voice as the door opened. The woman known as my Mother swirled in bearing a tray with oven mitts. “I baked you an ollalieberry pie—”

She suddenly froze as her eyes passed over the scene: me, Andromeda, lobes fully out, straddling a tied up cat boy with a knife while a frog with rock hard nips watched from the cuck chair. 

Total silence. 

“Honey,” she said quietly, “I know it’s been some time since we talked about you-know-what, but you know you can always come to me if you have any questions—“

“Oh my GOD Mom, get OUT of my ROOM!” I shrieked.

”Your father and I used to enjoy a bit of ‘cat and mouse’ too, so to speak—“

”Mom, shut up. Just please shut up, for the love of—“

”Help me!” Oblegaimon screamed from beneath me, twisting his head back towards Mother. “It’s your daughter, Archer—she’s in danger in the Fae realm, and this witch is trying to MMFFFGNGH—“

Thinking quickly as always, I had cleverly shoved the apple into his mouth. 

“I just want you to be safe,” Mother simpered.

𓆏