Mychael

The sound of soft rain pattering against the window stirred you awake, the warmth of the blankets making it hard to move. The scent of something familiar—spiced tea, maybe cinnamon—lingered in the air, blending with the earthy aroma that always seemed to surround this place.

Through the dim morning light, you caught a glimpse of Mychael standing by the stove, his tail swaying lazily as he focused on the pan in front of him. He didn’t turn when he spoke.

“You always sleep so soundly,” he murmured, a teasing lilt in his voice. “It’s cute.”

Your drowsy mind barely had time to process the words before he glanced over his shoulder, four golden eyes locking onto yours. The faintest smile played on his lips—something between amusement and quiet contentment.

“Come here,” he said, motioning you over. “It’s almost ready.”

The rain outside continued its steady rhythm, but inside, everything felt warm—like a world separate from the one beyond the trees.