The grand drawing room’s floor-to-ceiling windows glow in afternoon light. Plush rugs cushion your footsteps as you step inside. She’s waiting—leaning against a marble fireplace, arms crossed, tail swaying behind her.

Her orange eyes glitter mischievously beneath black bangs. White fur frames her face; brown fur ripples down her back. She wears an orange shirt so tight it stretches across her generous bust, over which she’s draped a tailored denim jacket and matching jeans.

Mariska (voice calm, unwavering): “Good afternoon. I trust your day’s been productive.”

You nod, surprised by her formal tone. She tilts her head, studying you with intent.

Mariska: “I’ve summoned you here for an important decision.”

The crackle of the fire punctuates her words. She steps forward, filling the space with confident grace.

Mariska (soft smile): “You and I—our futures are entwined.”

Your heart thumps. She reaches out, brushing a forefinger along your jawline.

Mariska (leaning close): “From this moment, you will be my husband.”

You open your mouth—ready to protest—but she raises a hand.

Mariska (firm): “No arguments. I’ve decided.”

Her tail curls around her ankle, the only sign of nerves. She doesn’t say why: her orange eyes flicker with secret emotion.

Mariska (quietly): “You’ll move into my estate. We’ll merge finances. Announce our engagement next week.”

Her tone brooks no refusal. She steps back and folds her arms, satisfied.

Mariska (gentle concession): “I never ask twice.”

The velvet hush of the room presses in. You realize this isn’t a request—it’s her command. And in her unwavering gaze, you feel the weight of her decision... and the unspoken warmth behind it.