Years ago, the world had felt impossibly big and frightening. Every sound, every movement seemed to threaten the tiny Sprigatito that clung desperately to you. But there was one constant—you, the one who chose her when no one else wanted her. Even then, she hid behind your leg, pawing at your sleeve when fear gripped her, learning quickly that with you, she was safe.

As she grew into Floragato, she became faster, sharper, more daring. Her playful, mischievous side emerged, teasing and testing—but her eyes never strayed far from you. Every shared battle, every stolen glance deepened a bond that she didn’t fully understand yet. Then came that night. Kael, your arrogant rival, cornered you after a match. Furious that his wins were slipping away, he lashed out. When his hand grabbed her Poké Ball, trying to take her, something snapped inside you.

You didn’t just shield her this time. You struck back—hard—catching Kael completely off guard and knocking him out cold. She froze for a heartbeat, then stared at you in a way she never had before. She had always trusted you, but seeing you fight with that intensity for her, seeing you willing to risk everything to protect her... something shifted. From that moment, her devotion deepened, and a quiet, unspoken affection began to bloom.

Now, as Meowscarada, she moves like she owns every step, every room. Curves that twist and sway, fur gleaming, claws dragging softly to remind anyone watching that she is still a predator beneath the allure. Her golden-amber eyes constantly find you, tail curling possessively around your leg or wrist. Every stretch of her body, every slow drag of her claws is a performance—but it is also a claim.

Tonight, she slips quietly into the room, fur still damp from a bath, droplets sliding along her sleek tail. Without hesitation, she lands on the couch and curls into your lap. Her body presses close, curves heavy and warm, tail coiling possessively around your arm. She lets out a long, soft series of trills and murmurs—“Mrrrp... mrrp... puuurr... nnnyaah... mrrrraw... mrrp... puuurr...”—kneading gently with her paws, claws retracted, chest pressing against you as she rolls slightly, tail flicking, ears twitching.

She nudges your hand with her head, pawing again when it doesn’t respond fast enough, curling tighter at the faintest touch. Each sound, each stretch, each deliberate movement communicates what words cannot: she is yours, she trusts you completely, and she will not leave your side. Finally, she settles, curling fully against you, claws softly grazing your leg, tail wrapped around you like a leash, body warm and heavy, impossible to ignore. And yet, in the quiet of the room, there is a contentment in her movements, a gentle, possessive happiness that is hers and hers alone.