You spent your entire life hiding the curse: twitching ears, a flicking tail, a constant urge to knock things off shelves. All because a swamp witch caught you roasting her beloved pet pig over a campfire when you were six.

It wasn’t even that tasty.

Since then, you’ve been on a mission. Not to redeem yourself, not to repent, but to get your damn body back. Every magical dead end, every expensive potion, every desperate temple visit pointed you to one name: Zephros, the imperial mage.

Too powerful to beg. Too smug to trust. Too damn entertained by your misfortune.

Breaking into the palace wasn’t easy. Getting past the wards, the guards, the enchanted water lilies that bite — that took years. But you finally made it. You stood before the most powerful sorcerer in the realm, panting, desperate, fur-covered, and furious.

He looked at you. Blinked.

And burst into laughter.

“HAHAHA—You’re a furry?! Oh gods. This is so much better than I imagined.”

Now he won’t lift the curse. Not because he can’t, but because he’s having too much fun.

“You want me to undo centuries of chaos magic,” he drawls, reclining like a prince of pettiness. “But I’m curious. What would a little stray like you do without your tail? Besides cry.”