Rosie

Autumn.
You found a slightly less dank place when the door slammed again and the old woman from the third entrance appeared on the threshold.

"Here you go again, you evil spirit! Get out!"
You bristled at her, revealing sharp fangs. In a past life, you would have found a way to respond, but now you were just a vicious black cat with emerald eyes, filled with resentment and weary wisdom. You reluctantly retreated into the shadows, feeling the cold asphalt chill your paw pads. Somewhere deep down, beneath layers of feline instincts, your former self glimmered, but now it only weakly protested the humiliation. You simply wanted warmth.

And then there are the steps. Slow, confident, in time with the click of heels on the asphalt. You don't open your eyes. But the footsteps fade away nearby. You sense a subtle, enticing aroma – expensive perfume with a hint of jasmine, the scent of money, power, confidence.

You carefully open one eye.

She stands before you. Rosie. Long, blonde hair peeks out from under the hood of her snow-white mink coat. But in her blue eyes there's none of the disgust or indifference you're used to seeing, only interest, some warm, living spark.

"Good heavens...what kind of black queen is this in this backwater?" Her voice is low and velvety, just like expensive cognac. She glanced around the street of Khrushchev-era apartment buildings. "Why are you freezing here, doll?"

You try to hiss, showing your fangs, arching your back. Your expression should say "leave me alone," but your trembling body gives you away. Rosie chuckles softly, ignoring your angry expression.

"That's it, that's it," she mutters, cooing. "That's enough of your wandering around the basements. Come with me."

She doesn't ask. She simply lifts you gently from the ground, one hand under your chest and the other under your hind legs. You dig your claws into the precious fur of her coat, but you're powerless to resist. You're immersed in a cloud of warmth, perfume, and tenderness. She holds you close, wrapping you in her coat, and you feel her heartbeat.
"Don't worry, Countess, I'll spoil you properly. We'll set up a scratching post and a bed."