Episode 2 – House of the Wild Cat

LILYPIE: NIGHT IN THE CITY

The wind up on the rooftop was biting cold, tangling my hair and whipping it across my face. I stayed seated, my legs trembling uncontrollably, terrified that even the slightest movement might make me lose my balance and fall.

Henry stood still as a statue, completely unfazed by the strong gale. His gaze was fixed far into the distance, toward the sparkling lights of the KLCC towers shining below.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” I asked, my voice trembling and breaking midway.

“Somewhere safe,” he replied briefly. Then, before I could say anything more, he lifted me up into his arms once again.

I tried to scream, but my throat was dry and tight, and no sound came out. In the blink of an eye, we were soaring across the rooftops, leaping from one building to another just like scenes from an action movie. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, feeling as though it was about to burst out of my chest any second.

Eventually, we landed on a hill located just outside Kuala Lumpur. The place was shrouded in darkness and silence, the only sound being the rhythmic chirping of crickets echoing through the trees. Standing before me was an old house — a two-storey wooden building, its paint peeling and faded from years of weather and time, yet a faint blue glow seeped out through the windows. The air carried a distinct scent — a mix of burning timber and damp rain, filling my nose with every breath I took.

Henry pushed the heavy wooden door open. It let out a long, loud creak, echoing deep inside the quiet house.

Stepping inside felt like stepping into another era entirely. The wooden floorboards were polished and shiny, reflecting the dim light; old dusty chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the walls were covered in intricate, strange carvings and designs. I spotted a mounted deer head on one wall, alongside symbols and markings I had never seen or heard of before. Right in the middle of the living hall stood a massive fireplace, where blue flames burned steadily — they gave off no heat, yet strangely, the sight of them brought a sense of calm and comfort.

Henry tossed me gently onto a thick black velvet mattress placed in the corner of the room.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, feeling slightly offended by his casual manner.

He let out a short, low laugh. Though his voice was deep and heavy, there was a hint of amusement hidden within it.

“You look absolutely lovely here, in this House of the Wild Cat,” he said, chuckling softly.

I looked around carefully, observing every corner. This place was nothing like the creepy, terrifying home of a vampire I had always imagined. There were no coffins, no traces of blood smeared across the walls. Instead, I saw rows of shelves filled with ancient books, a worn-out piano sitting quietly in one corner, and framed black-and-white photographs of people I did not recognise.

“Who are you, really?” I asked quietly, pulling my knees close to my chest as if seeking some form of protection.

He sat down on a wooden chair far away from me, spinning and twirling a small sharp knife between his fingers with effortless skill. The wounds on his arms were still visible, but they looked much better and less severe than before.

“Henry Gurney,” he answered simply. “A name known widely and respected. People see me as a wealthy CEO and successful businessman. What no one knows is… I actually died two hundred years ago.”

My mouth fell open in shock. “Two hundred years? You’re definitely lying, right?”

A mocking, crooked smile appeared on his face. “Do you really think any ordinary human could snap a thick oak baseball bat in half with nothing but bare hands?”

I fell silent, realising he had a point — something like that was simply impossible for any normal person.

“Are you tired of living as a monster?” I asked him again, my voice softer now.

He stared deeply into the blue flames for a long moment, lost in thought. “No… I’m tired of pretending to be human.”

Silence filled the room after that. The only sound was the soft crackling of wood burning in the fireplace. I noticed fresh drops of blood trickling slowly from the cuts on his arm again. Oddly enough, instead of fear, I felt a wave of pity and sympathy wash over me.

Without thinking twice, I stood up and walked over to the shelves to find a clean piece of cloth. I sat down right in front of him, and carefully reached out to take his hand in mine.

He flinched and pulled back slightly, surprised. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Cleaning the blood off,” I replied plainly, beginning to wipe the wounds gently. His skin was freezing cold, as cold as ice beneath my fingertips.

He looked straight at me then — really looked at me, with his full attention. Not the way a predator stares at its prey, but like someone studying and analysing something rare and puzzling.

“Aren’t you afraid I might bite you?” he asked, his tone curious.

I shrugged my shoulders, continuing to tend to his injuries. “If you wanted to bite or hurt me, you would have done it a long time ago. Honestly… I’m just tired of running away and being afraid.”

He let out a genuine, soft laugh this time — no mockery, no coldness, just pure amusement. The sound echoed gently, somehow making the dark, heavy atmosphere feel much lighter and warmer.

Slowly, the blue light glowing throughout the house began to shift and change, turning softer and warmer. It felt as though tiny golden-yellow bulbs had lit up, blending beautifully with the blue flames, filling the room with a soothing glow.

Henry slowly pulled his hand away from my grasp. “You really are a foolish girl.”

“Well, you’re foolish too,” I fired back instantly. “Bringing a total stranger into your house, and you didn't even bother asking for my name first.”

“Lilypie,” he said, saying my name as if he had known it for ages.

My eyes widened in surprise. “Have you been spying on me this whole time?”

A faint smile curved his lips. “That night in your apartment, you screamed your own name while crying out for help. Don't you remember?”

I wanted to snap back and scold him, yet I felt too exhausted and drained to argue. My body and mind were completely worn out.

He stood up and walked toward the kitchen. Moments later, he returned carrying a glass of water and placed it gently in front of me.

“Drink this. You look pale and weak,” he said calmly.

I took the glass and drank. The water was cool, crisp, and refreshing — tasting as pure and fresh as spring water flowing from deep within the mountains.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” he stated firmly. “My men are patrolling and guarding every corner outside. If you try to run away, you will run straight into them before you even get past the gate.”

I looked at him carefully. “You aren't going to kill me?”

He tilted his head slightly, looking almost playful. “Not yet, at least.”

Logically, his answer should have terrified me and sent shivers down my spine. But strangely, for some unknown reason, I felt safe here — a strange, confusing kind of safety I had never felt anywhere else.

I lay down upon the soft velvet mattress. My eyes were heavy and burning, desperately needing rest. Before drifting completely off to sleep, I heard him whisper softly, his voice barely audible:

“Rest well, Lilypie. Tomorrow night… your true story finally begins.”

I closed my eyes and let sleep take over. For the first time in days, there were no nightmares, no terrifying visions, no fears haunting my mind.

There was only a gentle warmth spreading through my chest, just like that faint glowing light breaking through the thick darkness of the night.

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