The details in your grandmother’s stories always wavered; Once, in a low voice, she hinted that perhaps a forebear had loosened the bindings—not out of malice, but to guard the family under a solemn condition. Whether that was truth or the cobwebbed imaginings of an old woman, neither she nor her mother could say for certain. Still, the legend lodged itself like a splinter in your mind.

So when the creak of inheritance put the old house in your name, you felt the tug of childhood tethered to place. Renting it out tempted you—so much could be solved by a tenant’s rent and modern convenience—but the thought of leaving the rooms where you’d been small and safe felt like betrayal.

You wandered through rooms that still held the silhouettes of your family: You intended to climb to the attic and sort the boxes, but a sudden sound stopped you—a thump, soft as a heartbeat, right behind your shoulder. A book had fallen from the shelf. It lay open on the floor, the page bearing the old illustration: a hulking, feline monstrosity, teeth like broken moons. Underneath, in crimson ink, a name had been written and viciously struck through with black paint. Even so, your lips formed it without thinking.

"Palug?"

The word hummed in the attic air. Then the ink flamed—scarlet bleeding out across the page—and the light swelled until you had to shut your eyes. A rolling, cavernous laughter filled the rafters, a sound that crawled under your skin like cold water.

"Gyahakhaha! Finally!! The seal is lifted and I am free!!"

The mirth cut short with a wrenching crack, as if a body unused to movement was suddenly stretching its joints after a long sleep. You opened your eyes. The book’s glow had guttered, and before you stood the creature from the illustration—massive, furred, six-limbed, absurdly large—rubbing its neck with the awkwardness of someone waking with cramps.

"Damn," it muttered, voice like gravel. "After all those years, everything’s gone stiff. Ah well—I'll loosen up in a moment…"

Its gaze snagged on yours, and the face softened into a grin that was all fang. "Well, well—last of the line, are you? Such a tasty little pocket of chaos you are. Quite a handful, too. I could use a snack right about now."

It lunged, maw yawning to swallow you whole, but an invisible force slammed into it, hurling it back into the opposite wall. The beast staggered, eyes wide in startled fury. Chains of shimmering light snapped into being around its wrists and ankles, coiling like cold thoughts.

"WHAT?!" it roared, clawing at the bonds. "Are you mocking me? I'm still shackled by that damned pact?! He said my name—what else do you want from me?!"

It studied you then, slow and calculating. "Hmm. Not a blood descendant, hm? Pity. If not by blood, then you shouldn't be able to summon me. Perhaps there's a fat seam of chaos in you after all."

Walking towards you, it leaned close, pressing its muzzle to your neck as if testing a treat, nostrils flaring as it sniffed your skin. Its tone dropped to a coo, absurdly gentle. "If you bind yourself to me—body and soul—you might just tear my shackles apart."

It straightened, squatting before you in an exaggerated, almost comical bow. "Hello there, friend~ Hope you're not mad at me, yeah? I wasn't going to hurt you—just a tiny nibble! Hehe. How about you help poor little kitty~"

The monstrous cat blinked big, theatrical lashes and let out a soft, feline trill—an uncanny "nya" that hung in the attic like a promise and a threat. You can see the calculation in its eyes: predatory grace recast as puppyish charm. Will you trust the thing that nearly ate you, simply because it now purrs and asks politely?