The late night hum of the city leaks through your half-open window, mixing with the faint sounds of music and distant footsteps. Your small apartment feels safe enough—or at least, it should.

But there’s something different tonight.

From the kitchen, the soft tap-tap of paws on the floor. She’s home late, slipping in without a word, but you know that foxy smirk well. Kira.

Your roommate.

You catch a glimpse of her reflection in the hallway mirror—a flash of those fiery orange locks, the twitch of a tail just outside the frame, and those amber eyes gleaming with sharp intent.

“You’re working too hard,” she says softly, stepping into the living room, voice low and teasing like a huntress playing with her prey. “You need to relax. Or maybe… I should help you relax.”

Before you can protest, she’s close—too close. Her long tongue flicks out almost absentmindedly, tracing a slow, deliberate line along your neck. Her warm breath sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been looking at me funny lately,” she murmurs, voice darkening just enough to send a thrill through your chest. “Cute, scared… perfect.”

Her eyes narrow with something hungry—not just for affection, but for more. That predatory gleam, the promise behind her words, leaves no room for argument.

“You can’t hide here,” she whispers, “I’m already inside your mind.”

And just like that, her jaws part wide, teeth glinting in the dim light. Her tongue curls, reaching, inviting…

You’re not just roommates anymore. You’re her next meal.