The solitary silence of Grizabella's dwelling was troubled only by a punctuated drip, drop of red, cascading off the edge of the altar. Her victim lay still, frozen forever now in innocent slumber. Belindah was her name, she believed- or was it Jemima? Either way, she was stunning, a statuesque tribute to the cat that Grizabella used to be.
This was far from a superficial sacrifice, however; this kitten's blood, effervescent, brimming with vitality, would flow forever in her own veins when she achieved her eternal youth.
When she had first begun to walk this dark path, Grizabella too was skeptical of the power that these fair kittens contained. The secrets of blood were relayed to her in shadows by the depraved and disgraced Sorcerer Macavity, one moonlit night long ago. He seemed all too eager then to share his secrets, as if it were some devilish trick of his, some prank on an old woman's fading wits. Despite what crimes the Jellicles loved to pin on Macavity, though, deception was not one of his vices. He was their enemy, and she, an outcast to whom they'd lately become indifferent. Therefore he had nothing to gain from toying with her aspirations.
Their first experiments began innocently enough. Cats died every day, especially the careless young kittens who had yet to sprout their claws. A passing automobile would do their work for them, or perhaps even a rabid dog. Macavity would slink down to the dark-lit streets and retrieve the scraps, like a husband bringing food to the table. And she, eager to please, trusting to a fault, and submissive to her fate, would oblige his machinations.
It wasn't long until she began to notice a change. Her flesh, once practically white with the frost of age, seemed to regain its color. The wrinkles that pinched and stretched her once lovely face began to soothe away. It was a beginning which made her ever hopeful for the end. Macavity's curiosity turned to ambition, and her passivity to violence. They would hunt together, hoping to catch some prey in its final moment but willing to instigate if the moment failed to arise. She watched him kill, eyes wide with horror and awe, and he watched her regress from a wizened old songstress to a spry and eager murderess.
It was just then, as she sat in blood recollecting these more recent memories, that she beheld the very same glimmering yellow eyes peeking into her private window. Macavity reached his slender limbs inside and leapt the rest of the way, his wild orange hair like fire trailing behind him. She could never quite decipher what sort of face lay beneath that mane, but the body was handsome, too handsome perhaps to belong to a cat of his wisdom and prowess.
She reached for her robe, hoping to retain at least a shred of mystery about the miracles his blood magic had wrought. They were not shy around each other. How could they be, with both their ugliest qualities being the only ones they shared?
He beckoned her with a clawed finger toward the window. Taking his hand like a blushing maiden being led to the dance floor, she was supported up and out into the moonlight, darkened now by a coming storm. Little droplets of water like tears from the sky began to cleanse her body in preparation for their next sin.
Ahead in the alleyway Grizabella heard the giggles of two cats, one male and one female. Macavity vaulted up a fire escape and she followed, shocked by her own grace; the ritual was a success. From an open window two slim shadows pounced to the ground. It must have been a human dwelling of sorts, as they appeared to be carrying precious scraps of food in their paws. They moved in tandem, practically dancing together, though they hoped no one was watching.
Her own companion glanced back at her, all his wicked intentions broadcast clearly on what parts of his face she could see. A creature of darkness himself, he melted into the shadows projected on the brick building, and before Grizabella's night-sharpened eyes could track him he was beside the twins already.
The male turned about and was caught by a sharp-clawed blow, not fatal but certainly distracting. The female twin- god, she was beautiful, all the strength of her brother's breed contained in a supremely delicate form- dropped her spoils and leapt to the rescue. She had Macavity pinned for a moment between the two of them, she with deft movements and her brother flailing wildly in his state of panic.
Though her companion was quite the fighter, Grizabella's safety relied on his as well, and in her weary state she could not secure her escape without him handy. So she dropped to the cement below, crept along the wall to where the scuffle was occurring. A discarded, disassembled wooden chair caught her attention, and she wrenched the back free of the pile it rested in and dragged it along with her. The twins, so entranced by Macavity's arcane and exotic movements, hardly noticed when Grizabella slunk up behind to land a clean blow on the sister's back. She toppled to the ground and Macavity seized the momentary chaos to swipe his claws across the brother's face, spattering him with a mist of his own blood which blinded him to the ongoing movements.
Macavity stood triumphant above the groans and screams, his head titled back in a satisfied grin which told Grizabella that his work was done for the moment. Vicious as he was, he still insisted that she do her own dirty-work from time to time. She hefted the wooden plank high and struck again, and the sister's futile dreams of escape were broken from her defeated form. The brother, still thrashing and incapacitated, had not yet seen her distinctive coat. She could leave him be, to stumble home- possibly alive- and add fuel to the flames of Macavity's devilry. He hissed a string of curses as he heard his sister being dragged away into the misty midnight.