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You can fuck with the Witch and she might fuck you back. But don't fuck with the cat.

Obvious. If you fuck with the cat, that is that. You are dead. You are dead to the Witch but she won't kill you. You become the catspaw, the toy, the mouse. She will hunt you. She will play with you like a cat plays with a mouse. But slower. She has years. She can retract her claws, all but one, and slice you like a razor. You won't even feel it, her claws are so sharp. You will just feel warmth and look down, and see blood soaking through your pants. You start up and that's the moment, when you move, that you feel the wound. Sometimes it is shallow, just a line that drips until it clots. Sometimes deep and you wonder if you should get stitches. But you are afraid: how will you explain the deep score, straight as a knife blade, to the emergency room? And the healing lines and the scars: they will lock you up. They'll think you've done it to yourself. And you have. You were stupid to fuck with the Witch. But it's a death wish to fuck with the cat.

And so you move through the day, afraid, wondering when the next slice will come. She flips a coin daily, to make it random. You think of telling her that you are sorry, that you want to take it back, can't you pay her, can't you work off the debt as a slave?

No. You can fuck with a Witch, but with the cat, there is no forgiveness.

Only endless wounds and pain....

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