I Was Paid to Watch Over a Feline Woman, But When I Saw Her, I Knew I Had to Free Her

The city of Ghalara was a place of secrets. Its winding alleys and towering walls hid stories that few dared to tell. I was not a hero, nor was I a villain. I was a watcher—a man who took coin to keep an eye on those who needed watching, no questions asked. When the merchant came to me, his eyes narrow and voice trembling, I accepted the job without hesitation. The pay was generous, and all I had to do was watch over a woman he called “the feline.”

He led me through the labyrinthine streets to an old stone house, its windows shuttered, its doors locked tight. Inside, in a dimly lit room, I saw her: the feline woman. She sat quietly on a narrow bed, her wrists bound with silken cords, her emerald eyes reflecting the candlelight. Her hair was wild, streaked with tawny gold and deep brown, and her movements—subtle, graceful—reminded me of a cat ready to pounce.

The merchant explained that she was dangerous, that she was not entirely human, and that I must never let her escape. He left me with a warning and a bag of coins, then disappeared into the night.

For the first few hours, I kept my distance, watching her as instructed. She barely spoke, but every now and then, she would glance at me, her gaze piercing, curious. I tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in my chest, the sense that something was terribly wrong.

As the hours turned into days, I began to notice things the merchant had not mentioned. She never ate the food left for her, instead drinking only water. At night, she would hum softly, melodies that seemed older than the city itself. Once, I saw her fingers twitch and the cords loosen, only for her to let them fall back, as if she could free herself at any moment but chose not to.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the rooftops, I found her staring at the window, longing in her eyes. “Why do you stay?” I asked, breaking my silence.

She looked at me, sadness and hope mingling in her voice. “Because I am waiting for someone to see me as more than a prisoner.”

Her words haunted me. I began to question the merchant’s story, wondering what crime she could have committed to deserve such captivity. The more I watched, the more I saw her humanity—the gentle way she spoke, her laughter when I told her stories, her tears when she spoke of home.

One night, a storm raged outside. The merchant returned, furious, demanding to see her. I watched as he shouted, accusing her of betrayal, of stealing something precious. She remained silent, her eyes never leaving mine. When he raised his hand to strike her, something inside me snapped.

I stepped between them, my voice trembling but firm. “She’s done nothing wrong. You have no right.”

The merchant snarled, but I was no longer afraid. I took the keys from his belt and unlocked her bonds. She stood, her movements fluid and powerful. For a moment, she hesitated, then nodded to me in gratitude.

We fled into the storm, racing through the city’s maze-like streets. She led me to the edge of Ghalara, where the wild fields began. There, beneath the cover of darkness, she turned to me, her form shifting—her eyes glowing, her hair rippling like fur. In that moment, I understood: she was not only a woman, but something ancient and magical, a guardian of the wild.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice echoing with the wind. “You saw me. You freed me.”

She vanished into the night, leaving me alone with the memory of her kindness and strength. The merchant searched for me, but I was gone before dawn. My life changed that night; I became more than a watcher. I became someone who listened, who saw, who acted.

And sometimes, on quiet nights, I hear her song carried on the wind, a reminder that freedom is worth fighting for, and that even the smallest act of compassion can change everything.