Catgirls And Dungeons (Yuri)

Just like that, I watch her, admiring her.

Ahh…

My leg's practically shimmering now, glistening with too much oil.

But honestly?

I don't care.

If it means I get to watch Morvena like this, then she can keep oiling my leg like a chef glazing a roast for the midwinter banquet. Over and over. Endlessly.

There's something oddly soothing about it… and deeply dangerous too.

——————————

The truth is… I've always been drawn to beautiful women.

And I've never been bothered to pretend otherwise. Not once. Not when the whispers began, not when the rumors spread like wildfire, not even when the clergy muttered about how it must be the demon blood corrupting me, twisting me, staining my soul, flipping my sense of right and wrong.

Still, I let them whisper, I let them say what they will.

Yes, I like women.

So what?

Which is why, over the years, I watched the very same people who scorned me offer their daughters like wrapped gifts—smiling too wide, speaking too sweet, hoping that behind closed doors I would reach for one of them, that I would choose a pretty, empty thing and crown her with favor.

They wanted power, status.

Every single one of them, desired a shortcut to the throne.

Some girls were bold, some were clever.

Some were… heartbreakingly beautiful.

But of course, I rejected every single one.

Because I knew, that none of them love me. They don't see me. Not really.

They all smile to my face and shiver under my gaze—but behind closed doors? They spit my name like venom. They curse the blood that runs through my veins. They mock my birth. They fear me, despise me… pity me.

And so I learned early... that romance is a weakness, that falling in love is equal to falling into death.

Like a dagger with a gilded handle, you think you're grasping warmth, but it only takes one slip before it guts you open.

After all, love clouds judgment.

It lures you into vulnerability, it makes fools of even the strongest rulers.

And I—Felicia Aurelia di Ventaria—cannot afford to be a fool.

No. Not with this crown. Not with this blood.

So I hardened.

I locked the doors to my heart and cast the key into the deepest part of the sea, swearing never to look for it again.

And thus, for the longest time, I told myself that real love didn't exist.

Not for people like me, not for cursed princesses born with blood that twists the world around them.

Lovers. Soulmates. Holding hands, sitting on rooftops, gazing upon the stars under the moonlit sky...

All of it felt like some cruel fairytale I wasn't allowed to believe in.

Because after all... who could ever look past the title, the curse, the tainted blood that whispers of demons and madness?

Who would ever… truly see me?

But then—

She came…and changed everything.

Flipped my entire world upside down.

...

Now, as I glance down at her now—kneeling so earnestly before me, eyes lowered in reverence, her hands working so gently against my skin—it happens.

My heart swells, and with that swell… something shifts.

Just slightly, just enough.

Like a crack forming in the walls I thought would never break, like the faint flicker of a flame I thought had long burned out.

Could it really be…?

Could she be the one?

If so, then fate has handed me a treasure beyond imagining.

A one-in-a-million soul.

No—a billion.

A trillion!!!

She's not just beautiful—though gods know she is.

No, it's more than that.

She bears the same curse I do. She's felt the same whispers, the same weight, the same cold judgment from a world that refuses to understand.

She doesn't flinch.

She doesn't fear.

She understands.

And gods… I want to reach for her right now.

To pull her close, to feel her warmth, not just on my skin, but in my soul.

But now…

BA-DUMP!

My heart is screaming, screeching.

Because… Damn it, I'm afraid.

Truly afraid.

Terrified.

What if… she doesn't feel the same?

What if… she just sees me… as a princess… and nothing else?

What if this connection—the one that feels like lifeblood to me— can only ever remain one-sided?

Just the thought of it cuts deeper than any blade.

Damn it… it hurts more than I want to admit.

But even so… this might be my one chance.

I have to take it.

If what Irene said is true…

Then…

I want to hear it from her own lips.

—————

Slop slop....

The foot massage goes waaaaaay longer than expected. One leg—already over an hour!

Still… I don't mind.

I have all the time in the world.

So I just sit there and wait, pretending to be relaxed, pretending to be distant, while secretly watching her every move. My eyes track the soft rhythm of her fingers, the way her hands glide reverently across my skin. There's something hypnotic about it. The rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her brows furrow in concentration…

I bite my lip, trying to hold back the mess of feelings twisting inside me—joy, nervousness, longing… fear.

A soundless giggle flutters in my throat, fragile as a moth's wings.

And I shake—just a little.

Does she notice?

Gods, I hope not.

No—wait, I do.

No… I don't.

I can't decide which terrifies me more.

Finally—finally—Morvena reaches for the towel. She begins to dab away the excess oil from my foot, slow and delicate. Most of the magic has long since soaked into my skin, leaving behind only warmth and a subtle glow.

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump!!

BA-DUMP!!!

My heart races, thunderous and wild, thudding in my ears so loudly it muffles the rest of the world. My throat tightens, nausea curling in my chest like smoke. I grip the edge of the couch to ground myself. Gods, I feel dizzy, sick.

But I keep my composure.

Barely.

Now, it's time…

"…Morvena," I murmur, quieter than before. Almost breathless. "Do you recognize this?"

I reach over to the table.

My fingers tremble as they close around a small notebook. The soft leather cover is warm under my touch—or maybe that's just my hand, slick with sweat.

I raise it. Show it to her.

The second her eyes land on it, I see it happen.

Her breath hitches.

Her body jerks.

Her tail stiffens like a whip.

"Y-Y-Your Highness…?! I-Is that… what I think it is?"

"Yes." My voice stays soft, even as my pulse screams. "Your diary."

The instant I say that, her face turns pale.

She recoils instinctively, folding in on herself like she's bracing for some divine punishment to strike her down. Her shoulders shrink, her ears flatten, and for a heartbeat, I see fear flicker behind her eyes.

And I hate it.

Even though Irene read it—told me there was something inside I needed to see—I never opened it. Not even once.

I couldn't.

Because a diary isn't just ink and paper. It's a heart, laid bare. A soul, stripped down and left trembling on the page. To read it without permission would be like plunging a blade into someone's chest and calling it curiosity.

If I pry too deeply, if I force her to share something she's not ready to share, I might shatter the fragile thread of trust we've only just begun to weave. I could ruin everything before it even begins.

So I speak.

As gently as I can.

"I haven't read it," I say quickly, almost in a breath. "But… will you allow me to?"

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump.

She parts her lips—about to say something.

But the words never make it out.

She swallows them down like something too sharp to speak.

And then…

Silence.

Heavy. Awkward. Suffocating.

It stretches between us like the edge of a guillotine, waiting to fall.

My hands sweat more. I grip the diary tighter, the leather cover slick beneath my fingers. My knuckles pale.

Gods, I'm shaking now.

Damn it, Morvena…

Please say yes.

Please say no.

Please… just say something!!!

And then—

"I-If… Your Highness wishes… then… please feel free to read it."

Her voice is so quiet, so thin, I almost don't hear it at first.

And as those words settle between us, my heart sinks—deep and sharp.

Because I know what that answer truly is.

It's not consent.

It's not trust.

It's submission.

She doesn't want me to read it. Not really. She's just… letting me.

Because I'm the princess.

Because she thinks she has no choice.

And in that moment, for the first time in my life—

I hate my title.

I hate it like it's now a sword pressed to my throat.

So I ask again.

Softer, but firmer.

My eyes narrow slightly, scanning her face.

"Are you sure?" I ask. "You don't need to force yourself. I won't read it if you truly don't want me to."

She closes her eyes.

Takes a breath so deep it trembles in her chest.

"No… I'm sure," she whispers at last. But her voice is shaky, and her hands—clasped tightly in her lap—are trembling. "The truth is… I do have secrets. But as your knight… it wouldn't feel right to keep them from you."

…

Fuck...

That answer…

It isn't any better.

Not the answer I wanted. Not the one I needed.

It's still her duty speaking. Not her heart.

I draw a breath, steadying myself, before lifting the diary higher in front of me.

"Last chance," I say. "If you say no, I'll shred this into a million pieces. I won't be angry. Everyone has their secrets, I understand. And as long as they don't pose a threat to me or this kingdom, I won't punish you for having them."

Still, even after I say that, she hesitates, again.

And my heart—

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump.

It thunders so loud I can barely hear anything else.

"…It's fine," she murmurs. "You can read it."

Then she looks away. Instantly. Her fists clenched so tightly, her knuckles turn white. Her entire body folds inward, like she's bracing herself for a blow.

…

I stare at her.

"Tch…"

I click my tongue.

And then… I smile.

I give up.

Because now I know, this isn't going to go anywhere. Not like this.

Even though I desperately want an answer, even though my chest aches, screaming to know what's inside that book.

I shouldn't.

Thus, only one thing left to do.

I toss the diary into the air, and with a sharp flick of my wrist—

SLASH!

A clean arc of magic cuts through the air.

The notebook splits, its pages fluttering like feathers before disintegrating into pieces.