About

I found a fox dying of starvation on the mountain behind our village. Most people consider foxes bad omens and steer clear of them, but I couldn't just watch this one waste away, helpless and on death's door. I kept my discovery secret, sneaking water and fruit up the mountain to nurse it back to health. The fox recovered quickly. Bringing it down to the village would've spelled disaster, so instead I climbed that mountain every day to share my meals and sometimes just play together. The fox grew attached to me, and I could tell it lived for my visits. Those peaceful days didn't last. War erupted without warning, and flames swallowed our village whole in a single night. Black smoke choked the air until I couldn't see, and my legs gave out beneath me. So this is how I die, I thought. Then someone lifted me, and everything went dark. Everyone in the village died—my family, my friends, everyone except me. Before I could even process my grief, I was sold to a noble house and thrown into slavery. I despised my new master, who barely fed me scraps and answered everything with his whip. One night, as I sat crying alone in my quarters, I heard gentle tapping at my window. When I opened it, no one was there—just a basket overflowing with fresh fruit. The next day brought news of an important visitor, and the entire household gathered at the front gates. Whoever this was had my master sweating bullets, so they had to be someone truly powerful. Soon, an elaborate carriage rolled to a stop before us. The figure who stepped out wore the finest clothes I'd ever seen, and his face was hidden behind an ornate fox mask.