The table had been set for her grandest feast yet. Grizabella emerged from her dressing room, a clean crimson coat draped over her shoulders. Macavity watched with rapt interest as she twirled about, her body regaining its vitality, her heart now hardened by the events of the past few nights. While the other Jellicles had been faffing about, reveling in drunken ignorance and blind faith, she had been quite drunk as well on the power Macavity's magic provided. And tonight, she'd finally have her fill.
Laid across a makeshift banquet table- a plank of wood stretched over a hollow tub- were three cats- each of whom had once been a delight to behold, but now could only degrade themselves, staining their faces with tears and begging for their very lives. Strips of cloth gagged their screams, but all their terror could be read more plainly in their eyes. While Grizabella had no mercy to offer, she would appease them soon with quick and honorable deaths. If the Jellicles so prized their precious immortality, would these kittens not be equally blessed to aid in the sustaining of hers?
With Macavity still presiding, Grizabella took up her old dagger and stood by the altar. Her fingers trembled around the grip, until the calming aid of her companion soothed her nerves. His paws clasped around hers, his body pressed against her back and his wild mane tickled the back of her neck until she gasped. One look into the villain's fiery eyes lit a spark in her backwards-aging heart and she plunged the dagger into her first victim, who struggled for only an instant before the fatal wound collasped her in place. Her blood, lipstick red in the candlelight, poured into the tub below. The next kitten in line, hearing the muffled screams of her companion, began to sob uncontrollably, transparent tears mingling with the red and splashing her coat prematurely with the hue of death. Macavity guided her hands yet again and she aimed for the heart, failing to puncture so deep at first and requiring a second thrust to finish the job. The third cat merely closed her eyes and shook her head, resigning to her fate. Grizabella took this resignation as the permission she needed, and she parted with Macavity to deliver the final blow with her own two paws.
The deed at last done, Macavity lifted the plank on which the bodies lay and revealed the fountain of blood they'd spilled beneath. Grizabella chuckled to herself- baffled, yet a bit relieved by the present end of her work- and prepared for her bath. Stripping her now slightly darker crimson cloak she slid into the tub, feeling the warmth of life rush around her newly invogirated body. Her reflection tonight was sublime, all the smooth color of the bloodbath painting a lurid picture of a beautiful young vixen, grinning with utmost satisfaction.
Grizabella submerged herself in the viscous red, drinking more than her fill each time her lips touched the surface. Though it tasted of death and sin, she had surely swallowed worse to maintain her reputation as a young kitten- deep blows to her pride and decency, all of which wounded her far worse than did the sting of virgin blood in her throat. She splashed about like a puppy in a pond, cackling in a higher, sweeter pitch than she was capable of even yesterday. In this excess of violence and ecstasy she could practically feel her skin tightening around her, feel her body molding to accommodate the young soul within.
Nearly an hour had passed before she tired of her private celebration, and she stood to dress again. Blood cascaded in thick curtains down her slender curves, hardly covering her before the eyes of her companion. Macavity held her robe and had prepared to assist her when he- perhaps enraptured by the gore before him- let it sink to the floor. He reached forth his paw and Grizabella, panting and panicked, practically stumbled into it. His long arms encircled her dripping form and, in a gesture more intimate than she had come to expect from any cat, he wiped the blood from her lips and kissed her.
The kiss did not last long, as the slick coat of blood she wore caused Grizabella to slip once again from her partner's grasp. She hoped, prayed even, that he had made some terrible blunder he would not soon repeat. After all, it had been so long since any cat had paid her any mind, so long since she'd felt the touch of a virile male. But then, that was the old Glamour Cat. Tonight's Grizabella was fresh, red hot from the iron forge of blood. They had skulked together, schemed together, and killed together. Why not then lie together?
She steadied herself on his broad shoulders, leaning upward for another tender kiss. Touch me, she pleaded inwardly; it's so easy to leave me. All the rest already have. He did not. His claws grazed against her thighs, hefting her up to straddle his midsection. Like a knight rescuing a princess from the dungeon of her sorrows he carried her away to her sleeping heap, blood like hot tar bonding their bodies together all the while. The candles blew themselves out as the two retired, entwining together under a blanket of the darkest night.