As the sun dipped below the horizon and the church bells chimed, the dying half-cat woman sensed a faint twitch in the pair of velvety cat ears atop her head.With the arrival of the first snowflakes, one landing delicately on her graceful cat tail, still putting up a fight despite its impaired agility, it managed to muster a few feeble flicks.As the snowfall grew heavier, blanketing her blood-stained body with its pristine white, it draped her battered form in a cloak of purity, granting her a fleeting moment of solace amidst the chaos.It wasn't until her final breaths that the cruel world around her relented, offering a glimmer of mercy in her darkest hour.She had picked the wrong spot to weather the winter. The benevolent embrace of the sacred city of Hegeral would never welcome a tarnished, fallen, and wayward half-cat thief like herself.Blessed with elegant contours, a nimble and lithe frame, dexterous hands, and stealthy silent steps, she possessed all the hallmarks of a skilled thief, yet she was never destined to walk that path. The feline half-bloods were never meant to tread the path of thievery.But alas, fate has a twisted sense of humor, especially when it comes to cats...Just a few hours back, she was still playin' the Duke of Golden Thistle prisoner, chained up and watched like a hawk by two armed goons, sittin' her ass down in the duke's fancy carriage.Their destination? You guessed it, the house in the Staff District!All along the ride, Krein, sittin' right across from her, wouldn't shut up for a second, just yammerin' away, enjoyin' every minute of it, like he was havin' a grand ol' time chattin' it up with someone he just beat. Must've been one of his favorite hobbies.But the half-cat gal, she ain't hearin' none of it. Her mind's off in La-La Land, thinkin' 'bout that damn house, even with the Grim Reaper breathin' do