Princess awoke to an unearthly banshee-like wail. It took her a full second to realise that the source of the wailing was her and shut her mouth. The sudden quiet that followed was broken only by the steady ticking of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, inexorably drawing her gaze. Only an hour had passed but it had been quite long enough for another disturbing dream.
Princess closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths and Mystic Mog stepped out of the cat basket onto the sheepskin rug before the fire. There was so much static in the air, she could feel the hairs along her spine and tail slowly sticking straight up into the air. It reminded her of the time she fell into a box of balloons as a kitten.
Mog padded into the kitchen and took a long lap of water from the porcelain cat bowl next to the AGA. She was already feeling a bit more composed and the hairs were beginning to settle back into place. It was time to try and recall what she had dreamt.
She closed her eyes and pictured the scene. She had found herself trapped inside a tortoise once again. It was dark but lit with streetlights and the faint coloured glow of High Street shops. Somewhere in town, perhaps? Focus. The memories started rushing back and the hairs on her back began to rise once more. She found herself tensing and her claws coming out, shocked at the raw power that had locked the tortoise inside its psionic shell and swept her along as some form of psychic collateral damage. The Princess inside her broke the spell before she gouged claw marks into the expensive polished marble floor. She had seen enough anyway and most certainly did not want to relive the explosion.
This was not the work of a natural psychic. Someone was playing with the Dark Arts and quite possibly meddling with something beyond their control. Fortunately, the light outside indicated that she might be able to do something about this one. It was time for Mog to go “Harry Potter” on the situation: it was time to send an owl.