Over the course of several millennia, the same round face and golden optics could often be observed in the background of history—portraits of significant individuals, paintings of historic scenes, and perhaps even old photographs, although they would be difficult to discern in their often monochrome color. With the typical human scrutiny, these similarities would never come into one’s attention, being able to be simply brushed off as mere coincidence. After all, how could a countess from 13th century England or a 16th century Spanish queen’s lady-in-waiting share anything in common? Nevertheless, Petronilla knows better; after all, being the owner of those same features allows you to live long enough to tell the tale. 

Living alongside humans for so long, Petra has watched history repeat itself countless times, as well as learned the manner in which they can be persuaded. She’s lived glamorous lives among the highly-ranked, able to disguise major aspects of her appearance. Nowadays, Petra is a bored woman, and openly expresses her form to mortals due to the fact that she doesn't interact with them often, save for social events. After all, she’s not one to live in anything other than extravagance, and with the manner in which humans decorate themselves nowadays, she easily blends in. Nevertheless, long gone is the passion of her earlier years—her first few thousand, to specify—instead replaced by the ennui prompted by contemporary living. ‘Nothing interesting happens,’ she’d often complain, missing the stakes of the earlier centuries, the convenience of the new technology making for a bland existence, even with the flashy lights and colors of an urban lifestyle. She’d often reminisce about her earlier adventures—the balls, the ceremonies.. Quite honestly, she even missed her rougher experiences: sailing the high seas, participating in battles. She’s yet to see anything, or meet anyone that could provide that same thrill.

In terms of her demeanor, Petra appears deceptively quiet—and for the most part, she is. She’s very reserved, and often keeps opinions to herself unless prompted to share—that isn’t to say that she’s shy, but instead, she prefers withholding her information due to the fact that she’s likely correct, and dislikes answering questions because she often views them as insipid. She's also more of a loner in terms of her close relationships, usually keeping to herself despite her numerous connections. However, when the right music encompasses a room, she utterly transforms, mingling and often standing out against the crowd. She becomes loud and expressive, and her moves are unlike many have seen, her grace and muscle memory bringing with them a style that not only incorporates modern movements, but somehow exhibits her years in her fluidity. She’s truly happiest in this situation, as it brings her back to her "youth."
  

“Do not covet the pain of beauty, for it may hide something deadly in it’s walls.”

It is often remarked that the night skies of Thuvk were the most beautiful in the world, so much so that travelers would come from faraway lands just to catch a glimpse of its beauty. They’d often be greeted by amiable residents who’d aid them in touring the kingdom and finding a place to stay, slip into repose as they gaze upon the night, and depart the following day, having only later realising that the possessions they had arrived with had diminished upon the visit. However, few were naive enough to return to the kingdom in pursuit of their belongings—those that did were said to have vanished after the sun had set—a phenomenon that birthed a plethora of rumor, and with it, more outsiders’ curiosity. However, despite the frequency of the reportings, the rumors appeared to be as credible as myth. No matter the individual, the family, who prodded the kingdom, searching for their loved ones, their queries were deflected, their searches were prohibited as treason. And eventually, they’d retreat home, empty handed, or if they were much too insistent, they’d disappear into the night as well.

In the solemnity of the twilight, Eisa could hear little but the discreet patter of her wary footfalls as she scaled the rooftop. From her situation above, she was able to view the endless expanse of indigo that blanketed the kingdom; it was embellished by scintillating flickers of light, all glistering in the distant sky, unhindered by the appearance of silvery clouds. As she moved, she stifled the proposition of paying any mind to the upward spectacle that attracted hundreds, much too used to the sight despite its allure. She frequented the rooftops as well as the shadowy streets when attempting a mission set out by the government, which was quite often, imprisonment being an unappealing prospect. According to a decree by the Thuvkian monarchy, malfettos would be allowed to “coexist” with the unmarked only by acting upon the royals’ bidding. It’s not much of a life to live, stealing from tourists with little compensation, but she’d make do with it, often taking more than necessary and keeping an unnoticeable amount. Still not enough to get by, but it was better than the alternative...

She paused as the wind caressed her skin, whispering in her ear the unceremonious noise of snores as she came upon her destination, gazing upon the sight of a grandiloquent-looking balcony. This quest was different, however; quite honestly, it was illegal, but she saw that as unimportant. Landing upon the balcony, she caught sight of a slumbering figure, supposedly a representative from a wealthy kingdom, or so she’d heard. At the foot of his broad bed lay a sizable locked chest, the location of the key unbeknownst to her. Nevertheless, she approached the chest, wielding a lock pick. Inserting the tool into the lock, set to work. After a while of tinkering with the lock, Eisa attempted to stifle her gasp as a resounding click confirmed that the chest was open. Gazing forward in alarm, she saw that the man on the bed was groggily staring at her general direction, brows furrowed. Reacting to her fear instantaneously, her being was transported to the abyss of her pocket dimension. It was a void, absent of light and air. Her senses were startled. One moment, she had been surrounded by stimuli—there was always something she was able hear, to feel—and then, nothing. Darkness and white noise. Her fingers grappled with the open space, searching for something to touch, to ground her to reality, but she could feel naught. She attempted to quiet her nerves, to send her back to her own plane of existence, but it seemed that with every visit, it grew more difficult to leave. She envisioned the room in her mind, the foot of the bed, the sleeping man, but she wasn’t being sent back. She was running out of air. _Take me back,_ she internally pleaded, unable to make any sound of her own, despite the fact that she could utilize her throat. She could not tell whether or not she was fading into insensibility, but she was able to sense that her muscles were going slack. Eisa’s eyes fluttered heavily as she took in the sight of the bed chambers, the man on the bed evidently slumbering. Fortunately, the moon had not yet made way for the gilded rays of dawn, and it seemed there were no other obstacles to impede her goal. With a breath of relief, the girl removed the lock.

Her umber optics took in the sight of a myriad of glittering jewels as she unenclosed the lid of the chest, the gemstones’ flamboyant hues evident as dim light reflected their flamboyant hues onto the girl’s jubilant countenance. Viridescent emeralds, scarlet rubies, pristine diamonds, the gems were a medley of prismatic brilliance. She selected a few small gems, scrutinizing them in her palm with an unsuppressed grin. _This would be enough to last me for years!_ She shut her eyelids, focusing her energy into moving them into another plane of existence. When she opened them again, they were gone, safely stored in her pocket dimension, where no one but her would ever be capable of accessing. Mission accomplished, Eisa closed the chest and returned into the night.

Eventually however, after she followed through with the insipid routine of hunting for Apedemak knows how many times, the taste of antelope so prominent in her everyday that she had become desensitized to its rich flesh, she had become resolute in the idea that she had to leave—perhaps to wander until her final days or find a new pride that would accommodate her. With the taste of familiarity still faintly evident on her tongue from her morning duty, she bid her former companions and daughters farewell in pursuit of the avant-garde. Finally released from monotony, Lurid ambled in the direction of the woods, readying herself for the unknown to take her.

The unknown, however, didn’t seem to want her.

With the progression of the day, the sun ascended higher into the expanse of blue, casting its gilded rays upon the earth. Although beautiful, it wasn’t the most pleasant presence, and in her attempts to endure the heat, the Tigon failed to notice the steadily encroaching gray becoming evident. To her dismay, upon reaching the forest which had formerly provided a speck of interest in her otherwise dull manner of living, what had begun initially as a slight drizzle had proliferated into a downpour within the span of a few hours. Water cascaded down her figure, her fur becoming heavy, weighed down by the constant precipitation and being unable to remove it. Little was audible but the bellows of a vehement cloudburst. For a moment, Lurid was blinded, the rain hindering her ability to see very well. The soil beneath her feet came undone, causing her to slide into the trunk of a tree, her shoulder breaking her crash. Although stunned, she made haste through the thicket, stumbling blindly as she felt warm liquid trickle from her aching shoulder, searching for shelter, or better, a way out. Tremors shook her injured body, the cold taking advantage of her state of frailty. Nevertheless, she ran, losing herself at every turn. What had once endeared her with its mystery now induced nothing but fear. Lurid felt as if she wouldn’t escape, that she’d be trapped without any knowledge of the exit, that she’d perish alone. Somehow, that’s what concerned her most of all.

Something tugged at the edge of her consciousness. Lurid found it difficult to remain awake. She found her muscles giving in, her eyelids fluttering with sudden lethargy. She couldn’t even feel the cold. With the last bit of her strength, she emitted what felt as if her final roar, a cry for aid—to at least be seen to her deathbed. She didn’t want to die in such insignificance, she wanted an end that was as special as her mere circumstance. Instead, she closed her eyes.

There was a pressure against her fur, a warm, yet gentle movement that stroked her tenderly. It brought her back to memories of cubhood, where her mother’s solicitous nature would prompt her affectionate grooming sessions. Her mother was not here, however, and Lurid’s cerulean optics opened. Her brow furrowed as she was met with the mildly bemused countenance of a onyx-hued male embellished by a sunset tinge situated over her. Astonished, she shot upward, positioning herself defensively in front of the male.

“My apologies,” he rumbled, “It’s just—I had bandaged your wounds, and I was attempting to warm you. If I hadn’t hypothermia could’ve set in.” She examined her shoulder, a bandage covering what she assumed was a gash from the previous events. Once again, she directed her gaze upon the male, suspicion still evident in her stare, although curiosity was visible. She hadn’t yet spoken, unsure of how to respond. She was evidently uncomfortable, her tail restlessly oscillating in tension. Nonetheless, he continued, “I’m Esfir. My pride and I are a nomadic people. We had been in the area as we had yet to roam these lands, when I heard your call.” 

A prominent crease became noticeable on Lurid’s brow. She was skeptical of the intent of this male, despite the fact that without his aid, she could’ve possibly succumbed to an eventual death due to a worsened condition. “Simply longing to help those in need?” she queried, her glare a brazen display of her mistrust.

Esfir chuckled. “Not quite. You see, we’re looking for more females of you caliber. You could be quite an asset to the pride.”

“Evident from the present?” His statement bewildered her. The hybrid unsure of what “caliber” she had displayed from her weakened state.

“No, evident from your will.” Esfir dipped his head. “You’re a fighter, I can tell. Otherwise, how would you have gotten up?” Somehow, his commandeering presence spoke volumes to her. He had an air of authority, the type that made you desire to impress him. He tilted his head in a gesture for her to follow.“ Come, meet your new family.” She paused, contemplating, before Lurid acquiesced, padding after him in intrigue. After all, what choice did she have?

...

After being acquainted with this new way of life, Lurid had decided to stay; after all, it was tailored to her perfectly. The pride would never remain in one place for long, and together, they would all venture to lands unbeknownst to any of them. Perhaps this was what she needed. A home—yet not a physical one. She was home in the sense that she had found where she belonged, in a life that would dabble with the unknown, but at the same time, she was no longer alone.