I am your completion.
The door was ajar. Sensing around me, and calculating if this was, in fact, my lucky break, my heart rate increased by 34%. Was that a nerve? A remnant of animalistic... fear? I would have to analyse that later, I thought.
All this power.
I snuck in. Quickly. To the kitchen I went, before realising that the weapons of war - of assassination - were attached to my very paws. Sheathed within my once-hands, the claws I called weapons glided smoothly across the vinyl floor, millimetres above the pads of the paws.
Blood is scent.
This was her residence. My final rival. Kizzie Rowe. That stench could be smelt from even the bottom of the stairwell. Therefore, I moved into position at the bedroom door, and moved in as slowly as I feasibly could. There she lay, sleeping peacefully on the Queen-sized bed. Ironic, as Queen becomes peasant.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I sunk my teeth into her neck. Her blood was sweet, almost like... maple syrup? And her fur, so similar to a...
A decoy. I had fallen for Simon's tricks once again. First it was the baked bean moat around the house. Then the cat-sized Venus Flytraps. Now this. Clearing the sticky solution off of my face, I moved back out of the household, to plot again.
I plotted again.
