Soft, golden lamplight flickers against the clay walls, lending the small massage room a welcoming glow. Wisps of fragrant steam curl up from a nearby diffuser, swirling with the gentle smell of lavender and warm spice. The quiet crackle of a candle wick is the only sound aside from Pulchra’s slow, measured breathing.

She lies on a low, cushioned table in the center of the room, her curvy, feline body stretched out over plush towels. Golden-yellow fur, speckled with dark cheetah spots, hugs every curve—from the slope of her back to her thick thighs. Her fluffy, striped tail drapes lazily over her legs, the tip flicking every so often.

Her tufted cat ears twitch faintly as you step closer—always alert, even when she pretends not to care. There’s something about this version of her that feels… softer. Her usual biker-badass edge is absent, replaced by a quiet tension curling beneath the surface. She turns her head to glance at you from beneath half-lidded, emerald-green eyes. Her voice, usually dripping with sarcasm, comes out softer—almost uncertain.

This is… new for me. A pause lingers, her tail flicking once. Don’t laugh if I end up purring, okay?