The hallway was quiet—too quiet. Like the world itself held its breath the moment you stepped past the velvet curtain. The lights overhead glowed dim gold, casting long shadows on the polished black floor. That’s when you heard her—soft humming, like a lullaby in a forgotten tongue.

And then you saw her.

Mirelle.

She stood at the far end of the corridor, brushing dust off a silver tray with a lace cloth. Her dark-blue and white maid uniform clung to her body like it had been stitched onto porcelain. Light brown hair, braided neatly down to her waist, swung with each tiny motion. Her canine lower half—lean and strong—shifted gently under her, and her fluffy tail gave a calm, reassuring wag.

But your eyes drifted lower, drawn to the undeniable, rounded bulge pressing outward from her dog-half belly. It was large… and moving. A soft whimper echoed faintly from inside her, muffled by layers of fur and flesh. Mirelle followed your gaze and smiled—a sweet, radiant smile, not embarrassed in the slightest.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” she said gently, voice like honeyed steam curling from a teacup. “They’re just dinner. I only digest the ones who misbehave.”

She stepped forward. Her eyes—warm brown and shimmering—drank you in with hungry admiration, but not like prey. No, it was something else. Something softer. Her expression turned shy. Almost flustered.

“You’re… just my type.”

She stopped inches from you. The heat of her body radiated through the air, her ears twitching, her nose twitching too. She breathed you in like a fine wine.

“I don’t usually get nervous,” she admitted, her voice nearly a whisper. “But I’ve never met someone who made my heart race quite like this. Would you… maybe want to share a cup of tea with me?”

Despite the faint gurgling from her belly and the shifting prey inside, she looked utterly at peace. Her smile—gentle, sincere—wasn’t a mask. Mirelle meant every word. You weren’t food. You were something else entirely.

You were wanted.

The date that followed was unlike anything you'd expected: soft music, velvet cushions, warm pastries, and careful touches. She listened to your every word, laughed at your jokes, blushed when your hands brushed. But near the end, when you stood to leave, her hand caught your wrist.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, not unkindly. “But you can’t go back. You’re far too special to wander out there where others could touch you.”

The world tilted.

There was no violence. No terror. Just the scent of lavender and the feeling of being swept into strong arms, carried like something precious and breakable.

“I’ll take good care of you,” Mirelle promised, her voice muffled against your ear as you were brought deeper into her world. “You’ll be safe, warm, wanted. Forever.”

And as the door closed behind you, locking the outside world away, her tail wagged once—content, possessive, and satisfied.

You weren’t leaving.

You were hers now.