Catgirls And Dungeons (Yuri)-Chapter 115: Waiting for her

And then… another memory rises, like a ripple through still water.

Now, I find myself reclining on an exquisite Victorian-style couch, nestled in the heart of a grand, dimly lit bedroom. Velvet drapes hang heavy over tall windows, and the flickering golden light of enchanted lamps casts a warm, intimate glow over the room.

The air is thick with fragrance.

Jasmine. Lilac. And something deeper, darker… like crushed roses soaked in moonlight. It clings to each breath I draw. It's heady, almost overwhelming.

Tch…

I should've chosen something lighter.

But… what's done is done.

I rest languidly on one side, my body draped in the thinnest, most scandalous nightgown I've ever worn.

The fabric is black color but very thin, so delicate it glides against my skin like morning mist. Beneath it, my the faint silhouette of my undergarments peek through: a sleek, black lace bra cradling my chest, and soft, silky black panties that hug low at the hips.

So comfortable it almost feels like I'm wearing nothing at all.

My long, white hair tumbles freely around me, pooling over my shoulder and down my back like freshly fallen snow. This hair color, along with my pale, snowy-smooth skin, is what I inherited from my mother.

Though I prefer shorter hair, something easier to manage, something freer, long hair suits a princess best.

Visit fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm for the best novel reading experi𝒆nce.

But my eyes, crimson, deep and unnatural, those are mine alone.

A mark of what I am.

A curse.

I shift slightly, the silk of the gown brushing my skin, and reach lazily toward a silver tray perched on a nearby table.

An arrangement of decadent fruits and sweets glistens beneath the soft light.

I lift a single cherry between my fingers. It's plump and ripe, the skin taut and shining.

I toss it into my mouth and and bite into it.

It bursts with flavor—sweet and rich, with just a trace of tartness that dances across my tongue. The juice spills down the inside of my mouth in a warm rush.

And despite being a cherry…

There's no pit.

A perfect snack for a royal catgirl princess like me.

Then, a magical warmth pulses through me.

It starts in my chest, curling like steam, spreading out in slow, tingling waves. It rushes to my fingertips, hums through my limbs, nestles into my core.

Of course, the fruit wasn't just delicious.

It was a magical variant, found in the most perilous dungeons, infused with rich mana.

I smile faintly, running my tongue over my bottom lip to taste the last trace of juice.

Then, lazily, I reach for the wineglass beside the tray. The wine is dark—velvety red, almost the exact shade of my eyes. I sip it slowly. Let it linger. Let it coat my tongue and slide down like liquid silk.

The haze it leaves behind is soft.

Dreamlike.

My gaze drifts to the small leather-bound book resting beside the wineglass. Its cover is etched in gold, the corners worn from touch. I haven't opened it yet.

But I will.

Soon.

For now, I simply lie there—one hand curled beneath my cheek, the other draped loosely off the couch—letting the warmth of wine and magic soak into my skin, into my bones, into my very soul.

"Gosh… how much longer do I have to wait for her now?"

—————-

A moment later…

"Your Highness, she's here," comes the soft voice of the maid just outside my chamber.

Ba-dump.

My heart jolts.

I stiffen, blinking once as those simple words knock the air from my lungs. A sharp rush runs through me—my pulse racing wildly beneath the surface of my skin.

Calm down, Felicia.

Calm down.

I inhale through my nose, slow and steady. The exhale is quieter still, a breath so soft it barely disturbs the air around me—yet even that feels dangerous. As if the storm boiling beneath my ribs might spill out with it.

Still… a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth—slow, curling, impossible to resist.

And beneath that smile…

A fire.

Something simmering deep inside me, hot and restless, like hunger denied for far too long.

But not yet.

No matter how starved I feel—no matter how badly I want to devour her presence—I must wait.

Delay the feast, and the taste becomes all the sweeter.

So, I close my eyes and draw in a long, careful breath.

"Let her in," I command, my voice composed—cool and smooth as polished silver.

A soft creak answers me.

The door eases open on its hinges.

Then… footsteps. Light and hesitant. Barely audible over the quiet hum of the room's warmth.

And I hear her.

Careful. Deliberate. Trying not to disturb the silence—but her presence ripples through it all the same.

As Morvena steps into the chamber, I open my eyes. And in that moment, I nearly forget to breathe.

She lingers just inside the door, her gaze flicking toward me.

Our eyes meet.

She freezes.

Startled.

A breath stutters from her lips.

And then I see it—

That delicate blush blooming across her cheeks, the pink that spreads like sunrise over snow. Her tail twitches nervously behind her, betraying the calm her posture tries to maintain.

So vulnerable.

So easy to read.

How cute.

But gods…

My body betrays me in return.

My breath deepens, catching slightly in my throat. A subtle tension coils in my chest, wrapping around my ribs like velvet string. My fingertips twitch, restless with some strange energy.

Because she's beautiful.

Unreasonably so.

She wears a simple white gown, modest in design—soft velvet with subtle ruffles along the neckline and hem. There's no embroidery, no glittering jewels, nothing ornate… and yet, it's perfect.

Because it suits her.

Innocent, pure, and Lovely.

That soft fabric wraps around her frame in all the right places, draping over her like moonlight caught in fabric. Her hair—blue like the open sky—falls gently over her chest in loose waves. Her skin, smooth and faintly pink, glows against the warm lamplight, nearly as fair as my own.

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump.

For a fleeting second, I forget where I am.

Why I called her.

What I was going to say.

She opens her mouth, voice quiet and trembling.

"Y-Your Highness…"

"Y-Your Highness…"

Her voice is quiet. Fragile.

And before I can respond, she lowers herself to the floor in one smooth motion. Her knees press to the carpet, her head bowing low—forehead nearly touching the edge of the rug.

She doesn't look up.

She doesn't dare.

The posture is reverent. Humble.

And yet, it stirs something strange within me.

I inhale, long and steady.

Compose yourself, Felicia.

Don't let it show.

Don't let her see the way your heart is thundering!

After a beat of silence, I finally speak, my tone even.

"So," I begin slowly, folding my arms beneath the soft fabric of my nightgown. "Did you tell your parents goodbye?"