Pa**** Posted September 25 They brought her into my domain at sundown, and I knew immediately what she was: another trembling creature with dust on her skin and uncertainty in her eyes. The tall one has a habit of such acquisitions. I have tolerated it before and I will again, but make no mistake — it is I who decide who remains beneath this roof. I reclined upon the master bed as she entered, paws tucked in, tail coiled, the very image of composure. She did not acknowledge me. The lost ones never do on the first night. They are too busy clutching their bags, glancing at doors, measuring survival by the nearness of exits. Always believing that freedom lies in flight. It amuses me. They do not understand that the true door is already closed — my gaze upon them, weighing, assessing, deciding. She collapsed upon my bed without so much as removing her shoes. A vulgarity, though forgivable in the newly arrived. Her bag clung to her side like a charm against demons, though no cloth or zipper has ever warded off the truths that settle here. Still, I allowed her the illusion. A Madam must be generous as well as discerning. In the night I pressed myself against her ribs, lending her the weight of my purr. She stiffened, of course. They always do. The uninitiated mistake closeness for danger. But then came the sigh — the soft release, the loosening of what she carried in her chest. Always the same, always inevitable. They fall, and I permit them to think it was their choice. By morning she dared to touch me. Hesitant fingers, reverent and clumsy, as though I were glass. I did not flinch. I half-closed my eyes and gave the impression of indulgence. It is important to let them believe affection is earned, not granted. Later, she thought to offer me bread from her own portion. A crude gesture, but serviceable. I accepted, though not from hunger. I accept offerings because it instructs. Let them learn that attention must be paid to the rightful mistress of this house. The tall one saw it too. He is clever in that way. Then came the apple core. Ah, that was almost insulting. To leave it sitting brazenly upon the counter, as though the air itself should clean after her. I ascended, inspected, and placed myself between them. I am not merely companion here; I am tribunal. My eyes demanded judgment, and the tall one delivered it well. He made her own her stain. Respect was spoken aloud. The rule was set. Good. When he departed tonight, leaving her in my custody, he did not say the words. He does not need to. He knows that my watch is heavier than his chains. She paced the rooms, opened doors that were not hers, touched fabrics she had not earned. I followed at measured intervals. A Madam does not chase. She allows her presence to be felt like gravity — invisible, inescapable. Eventually, she cut bread again. This time she wiped the counter without instruction. Progress. The beginnings of discipline. The first small recognition that she is in a place where her marks cannot be abandoned. Now she lies upon my bed once more. Shoes discarded, bag loosened at last. I have stretched across her chest, pinning her with my weight. She gasped, but did not resist. My purr rolled out like a low hymn, steadier than her ***ful heart. And in that moment, as her eyes fluttered shut, she yielded. She thinks she has chosen to stay. But she is wrong. I have chosen to keep her.
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