His job had many perks: the sweet taste of a soul on his tongue—the joy of inevitability hitting someone right before his eyes—or even the mindless violence of it all. Those were excellent features, but they paled in comparison to his favorite.
The feline had eluded him once before—not with brawn or might—but by simple boredom. A victim who didn’t run was flavorless. There was no point in chasing someone like Puss in Boots.
At least that’s what he thought after their encounter in the Wishing Star.
Mathuselah
2025-05-21 22:53:17 +0000 UTC