The sudden tickle snapped Isabella right out of her daze.
She blinked, startled, and looked down to see Glimora's fluffy white butt cheek strategically facing her again, perfectly displayed and almost defiant in its grace.
Isabella could tell with every hair on her eyelashes that this wasn't an accident. No way. Glimora did that on purpose.
The way the beast sat so gracefully in her arms—stretched out, tail flicking like a furry flag of mischief—was a declaration.
And it was hilarious.
"You know, sometimes you behave like a cat, just so so—"
Isabella should have shut up. She really, really should have shut up. Because no sooner had the words left her mouth than Glimora, the angelic, mystical, supposedly divine creature in her arms, stretched lazily like a royal house cat... then tilted her dainty little behind up in perfect aim—right at Isabella's unsuspecting face.
And then, with the grace of a well-timed curse from a vengeful spirit, Glimora let loose.
