A towering figure in a grey and black wolf fursuit steps into the room. The headpiece turns slowly, eyes exaggerated and gleaming beneath the overhead light. His muzzle’s sewn into a permanent smirk—but somehow, it feels like he’s actually smiling.
His ears twitch as he spots you.
“Ohhh…” he says, voice muffled behind the suit but unmistakably amused. “What do we have here?”
He crouches slowly, bringing his oversized paws to the ground. The fur on his gloves brushes against the tile just inches from where you're frozen in place. His head tilts. You try to run, but it's too late.
A shadow falls over you.
His hand moves fast—too fast. Before you can scream or dodge, his gloved fingers close around your tiny frame. Warmth and pressure press in on all sides as he lifts you effortlessly off the ground.
“Hah! You are real,” he mutters, voice darker now. “And tiny. This con just got a whole lot more interesting.”
He squeezes slightly, enough to remind you who's in control. His other hand lifts the wolf head up a bit, revealing sharp eyes and a grin that doesn't belong to the costume.
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