The leisurely days had returned.
As the pampered master of the Carter family's little princess, Peggy, Garfield enjoyed a status higher than many humans in the manor.
His meals were of the finest quality, fresh milk served in crystal bowls, steak seared just right, pork chops infused with rosemary, and grilled fish flaked to perfection. (I am so jealous right now)
He even had dedicated servants for massages, though Garfield often turned up his nose at their attempts.
"Too rough." He muttered after the latest maid's clumsy kneading. "No finesse. Peggy's hands are the only ones worthy of this fur."
When not eating or napping, Garfield would take it upon himself to inspect Carter Manor like the noble ruler he believed himself to be.
During these rounds, he often encountered James Carter, the current head of the family, walking his prized hound, Carl.
The first time they met, old James tensed, worried Carl might lunge at the orange cat.
But to everyone's surprise, including Garfield's, Carl dropped into a sit, tail thumping, and bowed his head submissively as if greeting royalty.
Garfield, completely unfazed, placed one paw on the dog's head and declared.
"Rise, Sir Carl. I acknowledge your loyalty."
"Woof."
"Now, return to your knightly duties. Escort the old man on his patrol."
"Woof! Woof!"
"And don't you dare lick me. Ugh, there it is again! You mutts never learn…"
Having once again failed to discourage Carl's slobbery affection, Garfield gave up with a dramatic sigh and waved his paw toward James Carter.
"Morning, old man."
To Garfield, it was a commanding and dignified greeting. To James, it was just an ordinary meow.
Still, the old general squinted down at the orange fluffball and gave a slight nod.
"Morning, Garfield."
With that, man and cat passed each other in quiet understanding.
No common words exchanged, yet somehow, they acknowledged each other as fellow rulers of the estate.
The longer Garfield lived among the Carters, the more curious he became.
There was something… different about them.
James Carter didn't look a day over fifty, yet he already held the rank of general.
Peggy's father served in the military too, though Garfield couldn't make out his exact role, mostly because the documents he brought home were covered in strange symbols, arcane scribbles, and sketches of plants and beasts that looked anything but natural.
This wasn't an ordinary military family. Garfield knew that much.
And the date, 1925.
The Great War had ended. Europe was healing, rebuilding.
People believed peace had returned. But Garfield, with his modern soul, knew better.
The true war was still on the horizon.
Still, World War II was years away. For now, Garfield was content. A soft bed. A full stomach. A sunny spot by the window.
What more could an emperor ask for?
But trouble has a way of creeping in, even when you don't seek it.
Not for Garfield, of course. But for Peggy… his sweet, clingy little shit-shoveler and her peculiar family.
And as King Garfield I of Carter Manor, protector of milk bowls and guardian of the softest cushions, he had a duty to defend them.
It began like any other day.
The sky outside was gloomy, promising rain, but the kitchen was bright and bustling.
Garfield had already consumed three eggs, a slab of bread, and a jug of milk with the elegance of a five-star gourmand.
Butler Philip stood nearby, jaw slack. "How... did you eat all that?"
Garfield gave him a slow blink and, with a final lick of his paw, turned his back like a true monarch dismissing a lowly servant.
Having completed breakfast and bath, it was time to patrol.
"Licking your paws again?" Pandora teased from within his mind. "You're really becoming a proper cat now."
"I'm hygienic. Not like someone who napped in a pile of demon bones last week."
"Lies and slander! I am Lord Pandora, Mistress of Darkness, not some, some paw-licking furball!"
"Really? Because I distinctly remember you curling up in my basket after bath time. Purring, too."
"That was an illusion."
"You were snoring."
"Denial!"
"Acceptance is the first step to healing, my dear shadow gremlin."
"Hmph! I hate you."
"Back at you, my dark-furred conscience."
And with a flick of his tail and a regal strut, Garfield headed out into the manor.
Everything seemed normal at Carter Manor.
Garfield, on his usual patrol route, strutted beneath the sweeping skirts of a tall, 22-year-old blonde maid named Anna.
As always, he looked up, purely out of reflex.
"Oh no." He murmured dramatically. "It's all black. I'm terrified."
From inside his mind came the unimpressed voice of Pandora. "Pervert cat, starting again, are we?"
"Coincidence." Garfield replied, flicking his tail.
"Admit it."
"Deny everything."
Their back-and-forth continued as Garfield padded toward the study.
He had intended to bypass it, give old Carter his privacy. But a muffled voice inside caught his attention.
"Did you find her?"
"Sorry, Father. Not yet."
That was James Carter Jr.
"Impossible. A living person that powerful doesn't just vanish. Abilities like hers never stay hidden forever."
"She might not be in the UK anymore. Captain Steve's not British. Maybe he took her to the States."
"Did you check Greece? She claimed she was from there."
"We've sent people everywhere. No one's found a girl like her. She only got recognized when Captain Steve brought her to England by boat."
Captain Steve?
A girl?
Greece?
Something about those details scratched at Garfield's memory. He halted mid-step and tilted his head toward the half-open study door.
Across the room, James Carter Sr. and Jr. stood by the desk, holding an old black-and-white photograph.
"Garfield?" Pandora prodded. "Why'd you stop?"
"I think I've stumbled onto something… unusual."
"Unusual or scandalous?"
"I'm not sure yet. I'm going in."
"Ooooh, do hurry." Pandora, naturally drawn to chaos, immediately perked up.
"The Dark Lady is dying to know what has finally shaken the cold, furry heart of His Highness."
"It's curiosity."
"Unless that curiosity has curves, I'm calling bluff."
"You're insufferable."
"I'm your soul-bonded torment. Deal with it."
"I regret everything."
"And I'm biting you now."
"OW! Be gentle, damn it, you masochistic furball, you hurt too!"
That was the downside of Pandora's partially awakened power, their pain was now shared. Not that it stopped her.
Garfield crept silently into the study, his paws muffled by the thick carpet.
Like a feline ghost, he approached from behind James Carter Sr., who was engrossed in the photograph.
Eyes gleaming, Garfield leaned in and stared.
The photo showed a ruined church, war-torn and overgrown with weeds.
In front stood several soldiers in World War I uniforms. But it was the woman in the center who froze Garfield in place.
She wore a thick cloak. In one hand, a shield. In the other, a sword.
"That face..." Garfield whispered. "That's my little wife..."
"Wait, what?" Pandora gasped theatrically. "The one you always go goo-goo-eyed over when dreaming?"
"I knew I'd seen that face before." He muttered, tail flicking sharply.
CRACK.
A rumble of thunder rolled overhead.
The sky, which had been grey and brooding, burst open. Rain slammed against the manor windows in heavy sheets.
As Garfield lifted his gaze, a sudden flutter of wings caught his eye.
A bird soared through the rain.
It was an owl, large, elegant, and gliding silently as if immune to the storm. It landed on the study's windowsill with a soft clack of talons.
But it wasn't the bird that stunned Garfield.
It was what the owl carried.
In its beak was a letter.
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
Phantom your way through a treasure trove of chapters waiting on P@treon!
PhantomDream