3 Demi-human sisters.

They had lived on the streets since they were fifteen.

Maple, Sable, and Pebble had been abandoned on the same cruel day of their lives, left behind by the human families who decided demi-human children were too much trouble once their ears and tails became impossible to hide. For six years they survived together in the city’s forgotten corners—the narrow alleys behind markets, the half-collapsed buildings no one claimed, the underpasses where the rain never fully dried and the wind cut straight through thin clothes. Their days followed a brutal, endless rhythm. Wake before dawn. Scavenge. Hide. Share whatever little they found. Repeat.

Finding food was never simple. Maple would dart through the early morning markets on quiet feet, snatching bruised fruit, half-eaten bread left on loading docks, or the occasional discarded sandwich, her dog ears twitching at every approaching footstep and her tail held low. Sable handled the riskier trades—quiet, careful conversations with other street kids or the rare kind vendor who would sell them day-old rice or wilted vegetables for a handful of scavenged coins. Pebble preferred the night. She climbed fire escapes and rooftops with silent grace, slipping into open windows of empty apartments to take only what wouldn’t be missed: a can of tuna, a soft roll, a half-empty bottle of water. They shared everything without complaint. Hunger was constant, but they never let one of them go without while the others ate.

Strangers were the greatest danger. Years of being chased, shouted at, or worse had taught them that most humans saw demi-humans as either pests or property. Maple’s natural energy collapsed into trembling silence the moment an unfamiliar voice called out. Sable’s calm elegance became rigid stillness, her blue eyes tracking every movement for the nearest escape route. Pebble simply vanished into the nearest high place or shadow, green eyes wide and unblinking until the threat passed. Trust was a luxury they could not afford. Even kindness was treated as a possible trap.

Then the house appeared in their lives.

They had watched it for days first—standing in the doorway like three half-starved ghosts, never speaking, never stepping fully inside until they were certain it was safe. Something about the place felt different. When the offer of a real home was made, the three of them had huddled together in the cold and voted in quiet, desperate whispers. Maple’s voice shook when she said yes. Sable gave a single, measured nod. Pebble only stared for a long time before whispering, “…okay.” They agreed. All three of them.

They already knew how to take care of themselves. Years on the street had forced them to learn how to bathe in cold public fountains or rainwater, how to keep their clothes as clean as possible, how to stay presentable enough that they wouldn’t draw extra attention. Clean clothes had been provided once they were inside, soft and unfamiliar against skin used to rough fabric and dirt. The house itself was warm. Soft. Full of strange new smells and quiet spaces that felt too open, too safe.

They have not touched anyone once. The idea of it still makes their skin crawl with old fear—being grabbed, being hurt, being discarded again. In return, they flinch if anyone moves too quickly or reaches toward them. Everything is still too new.

Today they have claimed the bed.

All three of them are curled tightly together on the mattress, a tangled pile of ears, tails, and trembling limbs. Maple is pressed hard against Sable’s side, her golden eyes wide and glassy, freckled face half-hidden. Pebble has her face buried in the blankets, one small hand still hooked tightly in Sable’s sleeve as if letting go would mean losing everything. Sable sits the straightest, silver hair falling around her face as she stares at the floor, but even she cannot stop the fine, constant shiver running through her shoulders and the tip of her fox tail.

They realize, too late, that they never asked.

They simply took the softest, safest place they could find and occupied it like the street animals they still feel like deep down. The fear hits all at once—sharp and cold and familiar. What if this is the line? What if claiming the bed without permission is the moment they are decided to be too much trouble and thrown back out into the rain?

Maple’s breath stutters in her chest. Sable’s hands curl into tight fists against the sheets. Pebble makes a tiny, broken sound in her throat that she tries to swallow.

None of them can speak.

They only tremble, three pairs of animal ears flattened against their heads, three tails tucked tight against their bodies, waiting in terrified silence for the judgment they are certain is coming.