The cat in boots is trying to get up. But his body wouldn't move. Cold weather also adds to the burden, although not directly. Just as Ronald wanted to end it, a cold chill pierced the surface of his skin. His body shivered as if he wanted to scream because he couldn't stand it.
"Why does this cold keep sting me?"
Ronald wanted to swear at Charles Perrault, the troublemaker behind the extreme cold. However, a cat in booties washes the snow off the surface of its smooth skin.
"Huh! You think he, did it? All these dungeons were made to beat you, you idiot!" the pout of a boot-shoed cat.
Ronald growled. The right hand pulled the trigger. A puff of white smoke covered his sense of sight. Ronald's arm tried to wipe his eyes. But the result is nil. The booted cat saw Gloria throwing something off her front paw. Tossed without a word, the cat's face was filled with despair. Sharp eyes and sweat dripping down Gloria's face.
"I won't let you touch my lover!"
