The Venicia School of Etiquette was a joke. Ladies pricking their fingers on embroidery needles, burning themselves on cookware, memorizing which utensils went to what side of the plate. Why couldn’t any of the classes teach something useful? Like what Encroachers and Defiled were on the island. Defense tactics. The current shaky economy between the other cities because of the constant attacks.

No. Instead, Annabelle had made the arduous journey from Catania, losing her sister and mother in the process, only to have her wrists slapped when her posture wasn’t straight.

She’d begged her mother to take them to Sorentina and let her continue her training as a [Sorcerer]. A kind, older woman had helped her hone the basic Spells to get by—minor offensive tactics and her personal favorite, [Displace]—but that was before she and the rest of Catania were reduced to ash.

“Venicia has plenty of warriors to protect us,” Annabelle’s mother had reassured her. “We’ll live together in peace as a family without the fear of the Defiled. Please, just a little further…”

“Annabelle! Pay attention!” Mistress Edith snapped, cracking the end of a ruler over Annabelle’s knuckles.

Annabelle grimaced as the girls nearby giggled behind their hands. The girls of pure Venician blood. Not an “import” like Annabelle.

“Squashing leeches is the only way to get rid of them,” Justine crooned to her cronies.

Annabelle caught sight of another girl in the hallway, marching past the classroom toward her next lesson.

“[Displace],” Annabelle whispered.

Justine vanished, replaced by a perplexed girl from the hallway.

“What the hell, Annabelle?” Justine shrieked.

Annabelle cackled, wriggling her tail in triumph.

The ruler descended once more, snapping the backs of Annabelle’s wrists and carving bright welts into her flesh. The searing pain was worth it.

“To Madame Celestia’s office with you! Now!” Mistress Edith bellowed as Justine exchanged places with her [Displaced] classmate.

“I hope she expels you,” Justine hissed so only Annabelle could hear.

Annabelle chewed her lip but said nothing. Let Madame Celestia expel her. Then she could make her way back to Sorentina, knowing that she’d at least tried to make the best of things.

Did you really, Anna? Or did you act foolishly on purpose? The voice in her head was her mother’s. Would I be proud of your accomplishments?

Annabelle blinked away tears of frustration and continued down the hallways with her chin held high. She breathed deep when she arrived at the head madame’s doorway, then knocked three times.

“Come in,” Celestia called.

Annabelle crossed the threshold and closed the door behind her.

“Annabelle. Again?” Celestia sighed and adjusted her glasses.

“My deepest apologies, Madame,” Annabelle recited automatically.

“This is the third time this week,” Celestia continued. “Who has sent you this time?”

“Mistress Edith.”

“What was your transgression?”

Putting Justine in time out. “Interrupting her most intriguing lecture on the correct method of folding bedsheets.”

Celestia slid her glasses from her nose and carefully laid them on the desk. “You disgrace the name of Venicia, and you mock the integrity of our credo. Service, Grace, Urgency. While your marks in your classes are acceptable, you lack the graceful nature of a true maid. You show no urgency in correcting your faults, toppling both pillars that hold service aloft.”

Expel me. Say it. ‘You are hereby exiled from Venicia.’ Annabelle waited.

Celestia’s eyes narrowed, and she stood. “Come with me.”

Annabelle paused, unsure of what to expect. Perhaps Celestia wished to show her to the door herself? “Madame?”

“Do not speak unless spoken to,” Celestia growled, striding past Annabelle and opening the door.

Annabelle swallowed and followed the head madame down a winding series of hallways and corridors she’d never traveled. She’d heard it contained more advanced classes and larger dorms for the ladies with children. Neither interested her, and she preferred to take her leisure in the courtyards or recreational halls.

As they proceeded farther along, Annabelle realized the ambient sounds of teachers and students faded with every step. Soon, the only audible sounds were her shallow breathing and their soft shoes against the carpet. She wondered where they were headed, but after Celestia’s previous remark, feared to ask.

“Here we are,” Celestia said, opening a heavy door at the end of a final hallway. “You shall spend the evening in here. No food nor drink will be served to you until the morrow.”

The tiny room smelled of musk and fear. Dim light penetrated two windows the size of Annabelle’s hands; one on the far wall and one on the door. A cold chill rocketed through her veins, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. “M-Madame Celestia, please—”

“There is a chamber pot for your use in the far corner. As you can see, there is no room for a bed, and so you must make do without one.”

Memories of hiding in her own filth, praying that the Defiled would not sniff her out beneath the floorboards of an abandoned house resurfaced with vivid clarity. She began to tremble. “Truly, I will not act out again. If you would just—”

Celestia placed a hand on the small of Annabelle’s back. “I trust you won’t.” With a sharp push, Annabelle stumbled inside the room and the door was locked behind her.

“Wait!” As the word left her mouth, Annabelle doubled over in pain. It was as if an invisible foot had kicked the air from her lungs.

Celestia’s icy gaze appeared in the door’s microscopic window. “I would very much suggest meditating on your misdeeds in silence. You will be expected in class tomorrow. On time.”

The screams of Annabelle’s sister as she was devoured by the Defiled rang in her ears. The cloying stench of blood and gore as it dripped onto the floorboards flooded her nostrils. “Please,” she begged, falling to her knees as her pleading was met by another blow.

“Service, Grace, Urgency!” Celestia sang as she exited the hallway. “Bear them in mind!”

Annabelle crouched on the floor, gathering her knees to her chest and burying her face in her skirts. No. Just expel me. Please.

Long, agonizing hours ticked by. What little sun passed through the window quickly dissipated with the oncoming night. The room grew freezing cold without the heat of the day, and Annabelle’s shivering intensified.

I’ll run away. I’ll never come back. Saoirse help me. Mother forgive me.

The sound of footsteps on the carpet dragged Annabelle out of her own head, and she leapt to her feet. She could see through the door’s slot if she stood on her tiptoes. It seemed Justine was headed to a room on the opposite end of the hallway.

This is my chance.

Justine knocked on the door just as Annabelle hissed, “[Displace]!” Pain rocked her innards, but the spell worked. She stood on the opposing side of the dreaded room while Justine screamed and gasped in immediate pain. She turned heel to run, but a voice stopped her.

“Hey. Did you get cold feet?” he chuckled and opened the door wider. “We can just talk if you want. It’s okay.”

Tristan. She’d heard his name plenty of times while living at the school. The honor of carrying his children—one Annabelle had never cared to receive—was given to those with high marks and perfect manners. Having never known her father, the heroism and importance of men was all hearsay. No man had saved her family, or comforted her in that dark abandoned house, or protected Catania.

Annabelle chewed her lip and glanced behind her. The opposing door’s window was too tiny to make out any movements behind it, and Justine’s shouts had already come to a close. But she couldn’t escape beneath Tristan’s gaze–the whole school would be up in arms.

“Alright, Master. We can talk,” Annabelle said, striding past Tristan into the wide room.

No luxury seemed to be spared for the island’s only man. Leather-bound tomes filled bookcases almost twice her height and littered the floor. A bed that would have fit her entire family stood on the opposite side, at least four strides from the bookcase. Paintings, blank canvas, and vases of fresh flowers covered every surface. At the center of the room was a table with a freshly ironed cloth, set with a chilled bottle of wine and two glasses.

But what captured her attention was the far wall, where the scene of a foreign landscape played from one edge to the other—a stunning beach with pure white sand and crystal blue waters.

As Tristan closed the door behind her, Annabelle traipsed toward the glass. “Is this not a window?” she asked.

“Er, something like that,” Tristan laughed and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “It’s Enchanted. You can see whatever you want, really.”

Annabelle touched the glass, wondering if she’d be able to feel the warm sun on its surface. Instead, the ocean and sand vanished. In its place, stone walkways flanked by lush trees and lule misri bushes in full bloom. Quaint houses lined the background, surrounding a fountain that doubled as the area’s fresh water source. Kittens balanced on the edge of the fountain, waving their arms in circles to stabilize their footing. Annabelle blinked and stepped back, her mouth and throat going dry. “Catania,” she whispered.

“That’s pretty,” Tristan remarked, moving to stand next to her. “Is that where you’re from?”

Annabelle nodded, unable to find the right words. Her house was the furthest one on the right. The faint outlines of her and her sister’s handprints on the fresh paint were visible if she looked close enough. “It…It doesn’t look like that now.”

Tristan lightly touched her arm. “What do you mean?”

Annabelle glanced at Tristan, his gentle face contorted with concern, then looked back at the once-beautiful Catania. Her mother’s promises of Venicia’s protection and the dying wishes of keeping her daughters safe throbbed in her ears. Annabelle tucked her tail between her legs.

What was she thinking? She couldn’t get expelled. This was the safest place for her to be. What would racing off to Sorentina to join the ranks of warriors and earning her an untimely death prove? How would anyone carry on the memories of her family if there was no one left to do so?

Tristan ran a hand through his hair and grinned sheepishly. “I just realized that I didn’t ask your name.”

Annabelle shook her head. “The fault is mine. My name is Annabelle, Master.” She needed to stay in this school. But as soon as Justine went running to Celestia, it was over.

“Would you like a drink, Annabelle?” Tristan wandered to the table and opened the bottle of wine. “They brought one of my favorites tonight.”

It was strange how nonchalant Tristan behaved. Annabelle had never bothered drafting a mental image of the man, but her expectation was somewhat…taller? More powerful? This young man had an easy smile and a thin frame. His green eyes were friendly, if a little sad, and his blonde hair fell into his eyes. Everything about him seemed tender. “If it pleases you, sir.”

Tristan shook his head. “Call me Tristan. Please?” He brought her a glass and retook his place beside her.

Annabelle sipped at the sweet, bubbly concoction as the beginnings of a plan formulated. The maids who became pregnant earned their own quarters and special amenities. They were cared for and revered. She’d never imagined having a kitten of her own, but if it meant winning her safety…

“Do you like it?” Tristan grinned, stealing slurps from his glass.

Annabelle couldn’t help but return his smile. “I do.”

He took another drink and lowered his glass. “I’m sure this is a little awkward for you. Honestly, it’s hard for me, too.”

Annabelle raised a brow. “Why would that be?”

“Everyone’s different. In what makes them comfortable, what they’re expecting, the things they like… All kinds of stuff, really. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it all okay.”

She stared into the depths of her glass, recalling something her sister had once said. “Yes, as do I.”

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you!” Tristan turned to face her, his cheeks pinking. “I just meant that I want you to feel safe. I won’t hurt you.”

A complicated wave of emotions came over Annabelle. She drained her glass and locked Tristan’s emerald eyes. “I believe you.” She stepped forward and chanced touching his chest. The skin beneath was warm and firm. “I am at ease. Truly.”

Tristan stroked her hair, fingering the base of her right ear and lowering his voice. “Would you rather keep talking?”

Annabelle’s heart pounded against her breast, and her breathing sped. What was this heat? This excitement? Her cheeks flushed, and she squirmed as his fingers massaged her ear. “I-I… That feels nice,” she admitted.

“Yeah?” He mimicked the motions with his left hand on her ear, stroking and teasing the fluffy cartilage from base to tip. “Want me to keep going?”

Goosebumps prickled at the back of her neck, and her tail quivered behind her. She could worry about Celestia later. So long as Tristan did not stop touching her. “Yes. Please,” she pleaded, breathless.

Memory stored and saved for Catgirls. . .

After an evening spent with Tristan, Annabelle sat outside the room where Justine was held. Celestia rounded the corner with a smug grin plastered on her face that disappeared as soon as she spied Annabelle.

“Y-You! How did you—?” Celestia spat, momentarily losing her composure. “Spell Casting should have rendered you immobile!”

Annabelle shrugged and stood, smoothing her dress over her thighs. “I suppose it did not work as intended. I do, however, suggest opening the door.” As much as part of her wished for Justine to live in that room for eternity, no one deserved such a fate. Not even that bitch.

Celestia paled and rushed to the door, swinging it wide. Justine shuffled forward, hastily rubbing her hands over her forearms for warmth. “S-so cold,” she whispered, then squeaked and braced as if expecting a blow.

“Justine!” Celestia steadied the girl, turning her furious gaze on Annabelle. “What have you done?”

Annabelle watched with mild amusement. “Nothing she did not deserve.”

“I shall leave you for a week in this cell—” Celestia began.

“Not if you wish to murder one of Tristan’s children,” Annabelle interrupted. It was the highest bet she’d ever wagered: that Tristan’s offspring was worth more than her life.

Celestia’s face contorted and twisted with rage, confusion, then understanding as her eyes flickered to Annabelle’s stomach. “You insolent, promiscuous, unwholesome—”

Annabelle smiled. She’d won. “Please. Take it up with him.” Without another word, she left Celestia and Justine in the hallway.

No matter what happened, she was safe.

I’ve kept my promise, mother.