The wild came dressed in fur, not as a guest, but as a witness - moving like memory: soft, sharp, and impossible to cage. It left behind luxury evidence - pearled saliva on marble, clawmarks through velvet, and the lingering scent of something untamed in Dior - beautiful, but wrong, like blood on silk. No one saw it arrive, no one saw it leave. Only the aftermath remained: glass cracked like bone, a chandelier swaying from nothing, and a silence that didn’t feel empty - but watched.