The last thing I remembered is the clang of a sauté pan hitting the floor and an 80-hour work week finally killing me.
So why, why, did I wake up smelling pine needles and... wet dog?
My eyes snapped open. This was not my studio apartment. This was a forest. A very real, very cold, very where-are-the-park-rangers forest.
A low growl rumbled through the air, vibrating in my chest.
I froze.
Ten feet away, standing over the carcass of a half-eaten deer, was a wolf. No, wait. A wolf was an understatement. This thing was a dire wolf. It was the size of a smart car, with fur the color of a winter storm and cold, icy-blue eyes that looked... unnervingly intelligent.
Okay. Okay. This is a dream. Or maybe I got so stressed I'm hallucinating. Or maybe this is one of those insane corporate 'team-building' exercises from hell?
The wolf lifted its massive head. It sniffed the air. Its gaze locked right onto me.
And then, it curled its lip.
I'm not kidding. It looked at me with pure, unadulterated disgust. Like I was a badly plated appetizer that had been sent back to the kitchen.
Nope! Not a dream!
The wolf took one heavy, deliberate step, then another.
I didn't wait for a third. I spun on my heel—in what felt like a truly impractical dress—and ran.
"NOT TODAY, SATAN'S LAPDOG!" I shrieked, vaulting over a log I had no business clearing. My stamina was built for 16-hour kitchen shifts, not... this! "I AM NOT ON THE MENU!"
I could hear it crashing through the underbrush behind me, and it was fast. Why was it so mad?! It had a perfectly good, non-panic-screaming deer right back there!
I saw a gap in a thorny thicket up ahead. It was a terrible idea, but it was the only one I had. I dove.
Rips and tears. Thorns snagged my dress, but the giant wolf skidded to a halt just outside. It growled, a sound of pure, huffy frustration, and glared at me through the branches. It seemed... reluctant to follow.
Ha! Too precious for a little scratch, are we, pretty boy?
After a tense minute, it huffed—a sound of utter annoyance—and finally stalked off.
I waited until my heart stopped trying to beat its way out of my ribcage. My hands were shaking, and I was covered in... muck. I stumbled out of the thicket, desperate for a drink of water, and nearly fell face-first into a small, clear pond.
I knelt, cupping my hands to drink, and froze.
The reflection staring back at me was not mine.
Where my mousy-brown hair and tired 30-year-old face should have been, there was... a young woman. Maybe 20 at most. She had the fluffiest, most untamable silver hair I'd ever seen, so bright it almost looked white in the dappled sunlight. Her eyes were wide with shock—and they were a stunning, clear amber.
And then I saw them. Peeking from the messy silver hair were two... fox ears.
Wait...what? I am a fox?
I frantically scrambled to check my backside, patting the torn dress. Nothing. No tail. Not even a small one.
Why don't I have a tail? A fox-kin with no tail..? I am so screwed.
That's when I heard it. A panicked, reedy voice from the edge of the forest.
"Primrose! Oh, Primrose, are you in there? You're late for your scolding!"
Primrose?
It all clicked. The fox ears. The missing tail. The name. This was the Hard Mode route I always avoided playing in Beastly B.A.D.s. The route of the failed Fox-kin, Lady Primrose Thistle , who gets sold off to a monster.
And who announces a scolding like it's a dinner reservation?
"I... I'm over here!" I called out, my voice cracking.
Two figures came rushing toward me, and I stopped dead. They were definitely fox-kin.
The woman, who had sharp features and mousy brown fox ears, grabbed my shoulders. The man, a portly fellow with a kind face and a huge, bushy orange tail, wrung his hands.
"Oh, Primrose!" the woman wailed, "Look at you! You smell like wolf! It's disgraceful! Did those awful cousins of yours lure you into the forest again?"
I just stared, my brain buffering. Lure me?
I remember reading the Chapter 1 description on the game's wiki... "At 20, Primrose is lured into the territory of the Wolf Lord by her jealous cousins, in hopes that he will 'cull' the 'failed,' tail-less fox..."
My aunt was still wailing. "...lured you right into the Jaeger hunting grounds, didn't they? Those awful children! Thank the stars Lord Rurik Jaeger didn't find you!"
Lord Rurik Jaeger. The "Grumpy Wolf" B.A.D..
My mind flashed to his Easy Mode game sprite: a ridiculously handsome man with stormy grey-silver hair, cold golden eyes, and a permanent "I-hate-everyone" scowl. The game lore said his full-beast form was a massive silver wolf, known for being territorial and hating fox-kin.
I swallowed, my brain finally short-circuiting.
That giant, angry, "hates-foxes," "too-good-for-thorns" wolf that just tried to eat me... that was my main 'capture target'?!
This Hard Mode was going to be the actual end of me.
My aunt kept her grip on my arm, half-dragging me through the woods. The entire walk home was a running commentary on my failings.
"Honestly, Primrose, the state of you! That dress is ruined. Utterly ruined! And the smell! It will take ages to wash the mutt-stink out of it."
"Now, now, Petunia," my uncle huffed, trying to keep up. His portly stomach jiggled, and his magnificent (if slightly greasy) orange tail was drooping. "She's safe, that's what matters..."
"Safe? She's a disgrace!" Aunt Petunia snapped, her auburn fox ears flat against her head. "Wandering into Jaeger territory! What if he'd kept her? No, what if he'd killed her? Either way, just imagine the paperwork!"
Yep. There it was. The famous Thistle warmth. My new aunt and uncle, Barnaby and Petunia Thistle.
This was my new life. Fantastic.
We finally arrived at the manor, which was a very polite term for a house that was actively crumbling at the edges. It was a classic faded glory setting, perfect for a Hard Mode route.
And there, sitting on the porch steps, trying to look innocent and failing miserably, were my awful cousins.
My brain, which was great at cataloging, instantly took in the details I knew from the game's wiki.
The boy, Lupin Thistle, was eighteen. He had green eyes which were sharp and cunning, set in a handsome face framed by slick, auburn fox ears. He was leaning against a post, idly preening one of his three—three—bushy tails. The "golden boy" and the ringleader.
The girl, Cassia Thistle, was seventeen. A paler, mean-girl echo. She had strawberry-blonde hair, pouty green eyes, and two perfect, fluffy tails, which she was currently pretending to clean.
Aunt Petunia dropped my arm and stormed onto the porch. "Lupin! Cassia! What is the meaning of this? Your cousin could have been eaten!"
Lupin just smirked, not even bothering to stand. "Oh, please, Mother. We just... suggested a shortcut. It's not our fault she's stupid enough to get lost and wander onto Jaeger land."
"Son! That is Lord Rurik Jaeger's land!" Uncle Barnaby wheezed, his kind face bright red. "He hates our kind! You know the laws!"
"Oh, who cares!" Cassia snapped, standing up. "It would have solved all our problems, wouldn't it?"
Aunt Petunia actually faltered. "Cassia! That is a terrible thing to... I mean... you must pretend to be sad about it!"
Wow. She didn't even try to hide it.
"Why should we? We're all thinking it!" Lupin pushed off the post, his amber eyes locking onto me. "She's a failure, Father. A twenty-year-old tail-less fox! She's practically a spinster! She's a curse!"
There it was. The "tail-less fox." In this world, a fox-kin's status and magic were in their tails. Most nobles had three, four, or five. My ancestors apparently had nine. I had a grand total of zero.
"He's right!" Cassia chimed in. "Didn't you say you needed to get rid of her quickly so we could be free? We were just... helping!"
"Hush, both of you!" Uncle Barnaby stammered, his face turning a blotchy purple.
"Oh, save it," Lupin sneered. "We all know Marquis Grieve is coming. We all know what he wants."
I froze. He'd said it. The Marquis.
He was talking about Marquis Grieve. The Bad End of my game wasn't just some abstract threat—it was a real person. A person my cousins knew about. They were literally trying to save me from one monster by feeding me to another.
"What? It's the truth," he said with a shrug, enjoying the shocked silence. "She's a burden. And if the Wolf Lord won't 'cull' her, then the Marquis will. Either way, this family will finally be free of its 'failed' Primrose."
I stood there, dripping pond water, smelling like "mutt-stink," and stared at my new family. The aunt who saw me as paperwork. The uncle who was a coward. And the cousins who had just tried to have me murdered.
They thought I was the failed Primrose Thistle. The one who would cry and be sold off.
But I wasn't. I was a Top Chef who had survived 80-hour work weeks, Gordon Ramsay-level head chefs, and, as of ten minutes ago, a homicidal wolf-man.
They wanted to get rid of me?
Fine. I'd get rid of them first.