The Fragile Scent of a Human Dream

I have stalked these concrete corridors for three centuries, my paws silent on marble and asphalt. To the world, I am just another student in a pleated skirt—a quiet girl with eyes that hold too many winters. But beneath this skin beats the heart of something older, hungrier, more dangerous than any predator known to man.
Yet here I lie, folded over an oak desk like a broken bird, letting my guard slip for one golden hour. The classroom is humming with the low vibration of city life outside—the distant roar of trains and neon signs flickering into existence as dusk settles.
He is sitting beside me. He doesn’t know that I could unravel his soul with a single breath, yet he does something far more lethal: he reaches out and gently brushes a stray strand of hair from my forehead. His fingers are warm—so devastatingly human. For the first time in an eternity, my nine tails stop twitching beneath the veil; they curl inward, seeking solace.
In this sterile room filled with textbooks and chalk dust, I have found something more intoxicating than moonlight or blood: a quiet kindness that heals wounds no spell can touch. Let him believe he is protecting me. It makes it all the sweeter when I decide to keep him.

Editor: Urban Kitsune