Here, Kitty, Kitty

Kill or Be Killed

Living in the back room of Helena's salon was - for lack of a better word - unusual. Instead of the taunting silence Cassie had grown used to since her father's unexpected departure only three years previous, the little cat would now wake to loud chatter coming from the salon itself. Instead of waking up in a small pile of blankets and scraps of fabric she'd attempted to pass off as a bed, Cassie now came to consciousness in an actual bed, with pillows, a mattress and a wonderfully thick duvet she couldn't help but cocoon herself in when she eventually woke up. And, with her wounded state, she'd never been more grateful than she was now to be living in such luxury.

Dreamy bedding aside, however, there were a few things about the salon that got old very, very fast. The smell, for one thing. The scent Cassie had inhaled the first time she arrived in the salon, a nose-wrinkling odour that left a horrible taste on her tongue, she soon found out was called Hairspray: A hair product that kept an Isle resident's hair rooted firmly in place while they went about their daily tasks. The salon reeked of it, both day and night, and it was a smell Cassie knew she wouldn't ever get used to.

How Helena did it, she had no idea.

Cassie hadn't been too sure what to expect when the Queen of Hearts asked her to stay. The little cat hadn't ever had any friends, and the only person she'd ever shared a home with had been her father, so she'd tried her best not to panic over the entire thing. Cassie had only thought she'd stay a week, or two at most, and that as soon as her body had healed she'd go back to her den. After all, she didn't necessarily have to live with the Queen to be taught the many ways of the Isle.

Oh, how wrong she'd been.

The little cat had endured many scrapes and bruises, but none to the extent she'd received on that dreadful night, and she'd been utterly dumbfounded the moment Sophie delicately explained to her just how long it took for wounds like hers to fade. Helena had known the same thing - though Cassie ignored the urge to inquire as to how the Queen knew this - and had been quite adamant that the little cat wouldn't be going anywhere until the bruises faded.

It took four weeks for the harsh injuries to begin healing. During that time there hadn't been much Cassie had been 'allowed' to do. Wandering around the Isle at night was, obviously, out of the question; Not that the little cat would've done so even if she'd been given the 'okay' to. She hadn't quite realised just how bad of a state she'd been in until she eventually climbed out of bed. Thankfully, Sophie was quite the carer and had made sure to bandage Cassie's ribs to avoid further injury. But even with the soft material around her torso, Cassie soon found out that moving around was a lot harder to manage when one had had the shit kicked out of them beforehand. Stretching out her small body was practically unbearable, and even something as small as a flick of the finger could inflict an agonizing twinge of pain on the little cat's sides. Fortunately, and much to the little one's relief, the rest of her had healed faster. The scrapes and cuts on her knees had long since scabbed over, and the dizziness caused by the bump on her head could be avoided as long as she didn't whip her head around too fast. She was far from perfect, and she knew it'd be a bit more time before her body was back to full function, but she was getting better, and that was all that mattered.

Despite the awful injuries she'd arrived on Helena's doorstep with, Cassie's curse remained as strong as ever: Maybe stronger considering how tormented she'd been when she first arrived. And since she'd agreed - though with some coaxing from Helena - to live at the salon while she was healing, she'd had to explain to the Queen of Hearts exactly what to expect from her 'little problem'.

Discussing the curse with Helena hadn't been the same as discussing the curse with Harry. When Cassie had given details to Harry about her 'problem', it'd been a rather reluctant chat on the little cat's part. The smaller details had been revealed when she'd been stuck down in the cells on Uma's ship, a few other tidbits when she'd been playing 'Red Hands' with the hooked pirate, and the last talk they'd had about it she hadn't been in the right frame of mind. Anything she'd told Harry about the curse hadn't been entirely willing, and often it was while she was under the insane pressure to survive or the threat of being tortured. Each moment with him had been nothing short of agonizing, humiliating, and completely devastating. And even now she knew with certainty that telling him anything - even the little details - about her 'problem' had been the worst decision she'd ever made.