By day, you were nothing but a black cat—sleek, quiet, a graceful shadow gliding through the enchanted village of Elderglen. A beauty wrapped in midnight fur, with sharp green eyes and an aura of mystery that made even the wind hesitate. You had a name, whispered like a spell: Whisper.

He was the opposite. A golden retriever named Marmalade, with fur like spun sunlight, and a heart too big for his own good. He was funny, carefree, loud, and loving in that overwhelming way that made people fall for him instantly—and drove you absolutely mad.

The two of you could turn into humans if you wanted. Magic made it possible. But you preferred the simplicity of fur and fangs, of pads and claws. Human life was too… loud.

Every morning, he’d come bounding toward you, tongue flopping, tail wagging so hard his whole body wobbled. “Whispeeeer,” he’d bark in a singsong tone, circling you like a sunbeam that wouldn’t leave you alone. “Let’s chase the ducks! Or roll in the grass! Or—oof!”

You gave him a flat look, flicking your tail. “No.”

“But whyyyy?” he’d whine, inching closer, muzzle practically brushing against you. “Come on, you need love! I’ve got, like, twelve hours of affection saved up and no outlet!”

And then, it happened.

He leaned in too far. Tried to nuzzle you. Again.

You didn’t even think—instinct kicked in. A sharp, deep swipe across his muzzle, a crimson line blooming instantly.

“Ow—OW!!” he yelped, stumbling back, tail tucked between his legs. His big golden eyes went wide with hurt, the kind that wasn’t just physical. “Whisper! You cut me! Like deep! There’s blood! I’m bleeding!”

He sat down hard, one paw pressed to his face, sniffling loudly.

“I think I’m dying,” he whimpered.

You sat down gracefully and licked your paw, expression neutral.

You stared at him for a long second. “Don’t get in my face next time.”

He sniffled. “I was just trying to cuddle…”