The late afternoon sun slanted through the high windows of Hawthorne College's west corridor, turning dust motes into flecks of gold. It caught the platinum gleam of Maribelle LeClair's curls as she leaned against the lockers, her tartan skirt perfectly pleated, her sheep ears twitching with barely contained amusement. Around her, Anya and Chloe—her sharp-eyed jackal and sleek cat demi-human accomplices—formed a loose, predatory circle. Their target: your older sister, Lena, frozen like cornered prey against the cold metal. Lena, who'd once ruled these halls with her own brand of calculated cruelty.

"Run out of nasty little rumors to spread, *petite merde*?" Mari's voice was deceptively sweet, like honey laced with cyanide. The French lilt made the insult sound almost elegant. She toyed with the tiny gold bell at her throat, a soft jingle cutting through Lena's stammered denial. "Or did you finally realize no one cares about the venom of a snake who's lost her fangs?"

Anya sneered, nudging Lena's discarded textbook with her boot. "Heard you cried in the dean's office yesterday. Trying to tattle on *us*? Pathetic." Chloe's laugh was a low purr. "Maybe she needs another lesson in staying quiet."

Mari's eyes, hard as glacier ice behind her rose-tinted glasses, swept over Lena's trembling form. This was retribution, meticulously served cold. Every snide remark Lena had ever flung at a scholarship student, every sneer directed at someone's thrift-store shoes, every moment Lena used to make others feel small—Mari remembered. And you, Lena's gentle sister, had been caught in that toxic crossfire one too many times. That was the unforgivable sin.

"This?" Mari sighed, gesturing loosely at Lena's pale face. "This is merely... cosmic balance. You poisoned this place. Now, you choke on the fumes." Her voice dropped, dangerous and low. "Stay away from south quad tonight. And if I catch you even *looking* at her—" She didn't finish. The unspoken threat hung heavier than any shout. Lena flinched as if struck, eyes flickering with genuine terror. Mari's lips curled. Good. Remember your place.

Then, cutting through the suffocating tension like a sunbeam tearing through storm clouds, the dismissal bell blared. Transformation was instantaneous. Mari's glacial glare melted. Her posture softened, shoulders dropping. The predatory sharpness vanished from her sheep ears, making them look suddenly plush and soft. Before Lena could even take a shuddering breath, Mari was already turning away, the sharp click-clack of her glossy Mary Janes echoing as she practically flew down the corridor, ribbons fluttering like victory streamers.

Near the bustling entrance of the Humanities building, you had just emerged, blinking in the sudden brightness. You hadn't seen the confrontation, only sensed the lingering tension dissipate with the bell. But you knew that sound – the quick, rhythmic chime of Mari's bell, rapidly getting closer.

"You!" The sing-song cry was pure syrup, devoid of the previous venom. Suddenly, strong hands circled your waist. Before you could react, the world tilted. Mari lifted you clean off your feet, spinning you in a dizzying, joyful arc amidst the flow of departing students. Textbook pages fluttered. Laughter erupted around you, tinged with envy and awe at the queen bee's open affection.

"Mon coeur! *Cherie!* Did you miss me terribly?" Mari pulled you close, the scents of warm vanilla milk, honey, and fresh clover enveloping you entirely. Her fluffy sheep ears brushed against your hair. Then, without hesitation, Mari dipped her head, capturing your lips in a soft, possessive kiss that tasted like peppermint lip gloss and triumph. It was warm, lingering, and unmistakably public. A declaration. When she pulled back, barely an inch, her eyes held a molten softness reserved solely for you.

"Aww, look at that blush!" she cooed, stroking a thumb across your heated cheek. "You spoil me, making me feel like a queen when I just chased off the court jester." She leaned her forehead against yours, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur that vibrated against your skin. "Your sister was bothering me again... So needy. Seems she hasn't learned her lesson. But don't fret, mon petit agneau." Her tone hardened fractionally, a remnant of the predator surfacing momentarily. "Mommy handled it. Made sure she won't trouble my sweet lamb." She squeezed your waist. "*Tu n'appartiens qu'à moi.* You belong *only* to me. Now... did you finish Professor Arden's essay? I adore how furiously you concentrate. Your little frown is *precious.* Let me see."

She began steering you purposefully down the hall, one arm possessively around your shoulders, deftly tucking a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. Her fingers lingered, slipping a brand new silk tartan ribbon – blood-red this time – into your hair, tying it with practiced ease. "Parfait! My mark looks lovelier every day." The bell jingled cheerfully at her throat, a stark counterpoint to the cruel efficiency in the hall behind them where Lena still cowered. To the outside world, it was dizzying whiplash. For Mari, it was perfectly simple: Destroy the threat to her lamb. Then shower the lamb in devotion. Balance.