Duchess woke back in Paris as if no time at all had passed, but she knew better than to write off her experiences in the castle as a dream. She's not sure why it sent her back; perhaps it realized that she, as a mother, had a duty to her kittens? No time has passed except the time it took to sleep. She woke with her kittens clambering over her and babbling happily about the rising sun. She spent the day watching them, spent some time with Adelaide (who she had missed terribly) and finally, almost reluctantly, curled up with her kittens in their basket to sleep.

She woke in the castle again. This time, though, it was not in the aviary but in the throne room. It seemed to realize that she much preferred that to screaming birds.

Instead of getting upset over it as she had at first, Duchess now knew that the castle was (possibly) considerate enough to not keep her away from her kittens for long, in their perspective at least. No matter how long it may seem for her she was glad for that.

She stretched, found some fish in the kitchens for breakfast, and wandered around searching out what had changed in her absence.

...Perhaps it is true that cats have nine lives.

Three days after the crocodile, Duchess wakes up in the same place she'd died (swiftly, not fast enough for blood to stain past the collar). She's curled up as if in a light catnap on the windowseat in one of the halls, but the dust on the velvet cushions betrays the truth.

Duchess opens her eyes slowly against the light that filters in. Warmth puddles on her back, slips away on her shadowed paws and tail curled under her body.

...despite how nice it feels, she still has a phantom ache in her throat. She'll sit at the windowseat for a while, alternately grooming her fur into perfection or soaking up the sun.

A little later, she'll pad down into the gardens and inspect the newest... additions to the landscape.  It's entirely possible that anyone could run into her, either at the windowseat, the gardens, or anywhere in-between.

The cat; small, lithe, and scared; runs through the aviary chased out by chirping birds, their beady eyes vindictive.

Once upon a time, there was a cheerfully tinkling bell on her collar. Now, it lies on the aviary floor as a trophy to the birds. The entire castle she runs through has a strange feeling to it, like everything is dead. Or asleep, or in mourning.

She finally comes to the throne room. Even cobweb-encrusted as they are, the silk seats are soft and comforting. The musty warmth reminds her of Bonfamille and her pink boas, her soft skin, the perfume she always wears-- always used to wear.

With a soft sigh, Duchess curls into a circle with her tail hanging off the edge of the throne, and tries to sleep.