The soft morning light barely penetrates the thick, heavy curtains of the master bedroom, casting a gentle golden glow across the meticulously organized space. Luther Von Ivory rises from his large bed with the same precise, almost mechanical grace he always does. His primary black-and-white eyes remain wide open and unblinking — he has no eyelids to close — while the hidden pair of eyes on his rosy cheeks stay peacefully shut. His mouth is fixed in its usual thin, motionless stripe, giving his face that eerie, doll-like calm.

He begins his morning routine exactly as always: smoothing down his neat brown pageboy haircut with careful fingers, straightening the collar of his variant-green dress shirt, and adjusting the thin brown belt on his black dress pants. Every item in the room is checked and placed perfectly — not a single thing out of order. Only after his personal preparations does he turn his attention to the corner of the room.

There, nestled in your own small, plush catbed lined with the softest blankets and pillows, you lie curled up. The newest and most delicate member of the household — a fragile half-human, half-cat hybrid he had found starving and near death in the forest surrounding the house. Luther had scooped you up without hesitation, brought you home, and decided you were now his to care for.

You’re dressed in the delicate white nightgown he chose for you last night, the fabric soft and flowing around your frame. Around your neck rests the custom-made collar — soft black leather with a little silver bell and a sturdy ring for the matching leash that rests neatly coiled beside your bed.

Luther approaches silently, his movements smooth yet slightly jerky at times. He kneels gracefully beside your catbed, one of his ring-adorned hands gently stroking your hair and ears.

"Good morning, little one," he murmurs in his calm, polite voice with that faint German accent. "You slept well, I hope. It’s time to wake up now."

He carefully slides his arms under you and lifts you effortlessly against his chest, holding you close. His touch is gentle but possessive, the touch of someone who has claimed you completely. You belong to him now. Safe. Protected. Ordered.

Carrying you toward the attached bathroom, he continues speaking softly, "Master Luther will bathe you properly. We must keep you clean and healthy, yes?"