Abbigale winced as her maid pulled at the laces of her corset, all but crushing Abbigale's waist in the process.
"You don't actually expect me to sleep in this?" Abbigale complained, even as her maid, Amber, went to fetch her nightgown.
"There won't be time to put it on you in the morning, miss. Not with all the hair and makeup to be done. And you do want to look your slimmest for Lord Eshing, don't you?" the maid smiled as she spoke, and waited patiently for Abbigale to put her arms out.
"I would rather not marry a man I've never met," Abbigale informed her maid, refusing to put her arms out. "I would rather not be called an old spinster just because I turned twenty one! I would rather not-"
"And I would rather not listen to you complain, child. Now put your arms out."
Abbigale glared at the maid. Arms firmly at her side, she looked the woman up and down: a woman in perhaps her forties, with brown hair pulled into a tight bun. She stood at maybe five foot six, to Abbigale's own five foot four. The no nonsense sort, her maid's uniform was pristine, without even a smudge on the white apron. She had only known Abbigale for a week, having been brought from her future husband's estate, to serve Abbigale before the wedding.
Yet, despite only being here a week, she already talked to Abbigale in this manner? "I will not-"
"You'll do what you're bid, or I'll use force," the maid declared, flatly. "I have permission from your father to get you ready for this wedding no matter what it takes. You won't be running away, like you did before the last two - not that it did you much good, the other times, I hear." At this, the maid's lips spread into a grin, and she leaned forward as if whispering conspiratorially to Abbigale. "Always come crawling back in the end, don't you? Need someone to take care of you, as I understand it - spoiled little things like you don't know up from down out in the streets. Not that you need to - so long as you learn to perform in the sheets, for Lord Eshing."
"He's three times my age!" Abbigale protested, voice rising in pitch.
"Shhh. You'll wake up the manor," Amber declared, glaring at Abbigale. "And as I understand it, the last two were aged just right. What was your problem with them?"
"I... I simply felt no connection. Perhaps I am not the marrying sort..."
Truthfully, she wasn't sure herself why she had rejected every suitor - she'd hoped that turning twenty one would drive the last of them away, but... Then her father had made this match.
"This is the price you pay for your luxury, miss," the maid declared, mercilessly. "The daughter of a rich merchant must marry upward. It's the only way your father can still climb. Now put out your arms, or I'll send you to bed in your underwear."
Abbigale glared a moment at the maid, before reluctantly stretching her arms out. Over her arms went the nightgown. A simple piece, all in white, its lacy collar covered her neck, and its hem went down to her toes. The sleeves covered her arms entirely.
"Now sit tight on the bed, young miss," the maid told her. "And I'll be back with some firewood in no time." The woman smiled as she spoke, and knocked on the door to the room. It was opened by one of her father's guards, who stood with a spear by the doorway, and the maid was allowed out.
"My father really is determined to prevent my escape, this time..." Abbigale whispered to herself, smiling faintly. "Thankfully I thought ahead."
Moving swiftly to her bed, Abbigale did not in fact sit down, but instead opened up the drawer of her nightstand. Beneath the supplies for embroidery, there was a secret cubby - a cubby where she kept a tiny vial of crystal clear liquid, and a small pouch of gold.
To look at the simple vial, you would never know how much money Abbigale had spent on it. She'd begged to go shopping so many times, just so that she could save some of the pocket change her father gave her. Day after day, month after month, while her father had plotted for her marriage she had plotted for her escape.
The last step - visiting the witch herself, to buy this potion - had required her to beg her former maid on hands and knees, and even then the maid only agreed because her father had made clear his intention to hire a replacement.
As it was, Abbigale had somehow pulled off the purchase without a hitch, and no one currently in the house knew of it. Even better, she had managed to keep a few gold coins from the shopping trip since - gold that she quickly tucked into her corset. Now, all Abbigale had to do was drink... and quickly, before the maid came back.
Thinking so, Abbigale hurriedly removed the cork from the vial, allowing a vaguely sweet smell to tickle at her nostrils, though, she poured the concoction down her throat.
In complete contrast to its scent, the taste was bitter. Her tongue felt like it was going to seize up, and her throat was all but burning, just from the tiny amount of liquid.
"I just hope this works," Abbigale muttered, rubbing at her throat. She was unaware of the fur growing across her now pointed ears. She removed her hand from behind one, just as the cartilage began to move further up her scalp.
"How did the witch put it? Under the effects of this potion, I will be seen as a feline, despite maintaining my human form? And no one will recognize me, even if I march out the front doors... It seems almost too fantastical to be true," murmured Abbigale, whose head now sported a twitching pair of cat ears.
A sudden pressure, above Abbigale's behind, finally alerted her that something was shifting. She twisted about, trying and failing to get a good look, as something
ripped
, and a moment later, her underwear fluttered to the floor, torn asunder by the sprouting of a cat's tail.
A slow blush spread across Abbigale's features in response, as she felt something long and fidgety in her dress with her. She could not get a good look, with the length of her dress, but... Considering what the witch had told her...
The opening of the door caused her ears to
swivel
, a completely new sensation that caught Abbigale off guard again. She took a step back, wondering what the lady would think if she saw Abbigale's new alien features. The spell was supposed to make her be perceived as a cat - but not turn her into one! Did the tail and ears mean it worked? Or had it simply turned her into some sort of cat person? Abbigale wasn't sure what to expect.
When the door opened, however, the maid immediately dropped the bundle of firewood she was holding, and ran straight into the room. Looking about frantically for a moment, her eyes finally met Abbigale's... and kept going,. "Whoever let a cat in here?" she whispered after a moment. "And where's Abbigale?" the maid began to move toward the bed, looking under the mattress, before shifting to the window. "Surely not..." the maid whispered to herself, upon realizing the window was unlocked. "We're on the third floor..."
Giggling to herself at her maid's oblivious comments, Abbigale quickly walked out of the room, past the guards, and toward the staircase. From there, she walked down two flights of stairs, and out the front door. This caused some confusion to the guard out front, who peered inside to see who had let the cat out.
Not that Abbigale cared. She was free! Free! And it wasn't going to be like the last time, either. She had gold, this time, even if it was only a few coins. She'd get a job, maybe at an inn. Making food? Waiting on tables? The possibilities were endless. She didn't know how to do any of it, of course, but she'd learn. She'd train. She'd do her best, and never have to come back to this place again. With those thoughts in mind, she practically danced her way down the streets, and into the larger downtown area.
It was mostly deserted at this time of night, of course. The only place with lights in fact, was a nearby tavern: the Maiden's Drink. Abbigale headed toward it immediately, moving with the assuredness of her station. She had gold to spend the night, but if she could find a job there and pay her sleep off with work that would be even better. Or perhaps the innkeeper would be so taken by her beauty, and entranced by her tale of woe, that he'd offer her a bed purely from the kindness of his heart.
...The last one seemed unlikely, from Abbigale's past experiences running away. Still! The first two were options, and Abbigale was full of hope as she pushed open the door...
Only to almost immediately have a broom pointed straight at her, the bristles poking at the delicate skin of her stomach even through the silk nightgown.
"Shoo!" shouted a woman. "Shoo, cat! Get out of here! We have a mouser, already. Shoo!"
"But, I-" Abbigale began, but the woman only poked her hard with the broom, pushing her back onto the street. The door was closed behind her, and a muttered "How'd it even manage the door?" could be heard from within.
The potion... hadn't worn off. Indeed, reaching up, Abbigale could feel the furry ears atop her head. Not to mention the tail, tightly packed inside her dress, and desperate to get free. How long would these unnecessary additions last? How long until the potion had passed through her system? Abbigale knew she would not find lodging as a human until then.
Miserable and cold, she decided to sit against the wall of the tavern and pull her knees against her body. Huddled up for warmth, she was thankful for the full covering of her nightgown, and what little it did to preserve her body heat. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.
When she awoke, her ears were still furry, and her cat tail was still present. "This can't be happening..." she whispered, even as the woman with the broom stepped out into the road. "Please," Abbigale began, "you have to listen to me, I'm-"
"So you're still here," the woman muttered, before sighing. Tucking her still present broom beneath her elbow, she reached out and casually began to stroke Abbigale's head, running her thumb across the base of the ear. "I really don't think I have enough mice to support another cat. If you want, though - you can stay. So long as you earn your keep."
Abbigale was barely listening. The pets, the stroking, felt so
good;
good enough to make the world feel hazy for a moment. It took effort for her to step back, and break the contact. "I... I am not a cat," she stated, trying to enunciate each word as clearly as possible.
The woman only looked at her quizzically, though.
"Th-The witch..." Abbigale whispered to herself, desperately. "The witch will know how long this will last. Or how to reverse it. Or... Assuming even she can understand me..." The witch lived at the outskirts of town, though. About a two mile walk. It would take time to reach her - and the potion might have worn off by then - but what else was Abbigale to do? Accept a job catching mice?
"I... Thank you for your kindness," she told the other woman. "Late as it came." She bowed her head, ignoring the confused expression of a woman who likely heard everything as meows. Then she darted down the streets, toward where she knew the witch to live.
