We left the guest room. The hallway smelled faintly of beeswax and warm linen. Sconces threw soft light over framed sketches-landscapes and beasts, all done with a sure hand. The floorboards had that solid, forgiving give under weight that only old wood knows. A string quartet drifted up from somewhere far below, or maybe it was just kitchen clatter turning musical in my tired ears.
By the time we reached the dining hall, the smell was a blanket: roasted meat, butter, herbs crushed under a knife, yeast and heat, and something sweet.
My stomach growled loudly enough to get an answering echo from the ceiling. Stacy bit her knuckle to hold in a laugh and failed. "Sorry," she gasped between giggles, "but-"
"Laugh it up." I pressed a hand over my traitorous gut. "I smell the kitchen from upstairs. Blame your house."
Rebecca was already there, sleeves rolled to her forearms, hair back in a no-nonsense knot. She'd overseen an assault. A long table, groaning with choices: a roasted bird glistening under honeyed glaze; thick stew with root vegetables and mushrooms; a casserole that steamed cheese and onion into the air; fresh bread broken into rugged halves; bowls of salted greens; a mountain of rice; platters of sliced fruit; little dishes of pickled things; and a tray of sweets that sparkled like bait.
"We didn't know what you like," she said, deadpan. "So we made everything." Her eyes ticked to the chair at the head of the table, then to my face, measuring whether I'd try to climb the table instead of sit at it.
"Huh," Stacy said.
"Huh, what?" Rebecca asked, already reaching for the ladle.
"Huh, as in: look down."
They both looked-and blinked. The chair scraped faintly. A ten-year-old girl with fox eyes and hungry hands was already seated, cheeks puffed, shoveling food with a mechanical efficiency that would have impressed any quartermaster. My hands moved faster than my thoughts when food was involved. Old habit: eat when you can. You don't know when they'll remember you.
"I think we should teach her some manners," Rebecca said, dry as salt.
"It's fine to let her be," Stacy chuckled, leaning an elbow on the back of the chair beside me, watching like she'd discovered a small, agile animal with endearing habits. Her smile stalled. "Okay, I take that back. Don't eat the bones."
I paused, a crisp, clean snap between my teeth. "Why?" I said around a mouthful. "They're good."
Rebecca squinted. "How are your teeth even handling that?"
"She's special," Stacy said, and for once the word didn't feel condescending. "Kitsuna, spit out the bones. Please."
I swallowed. "But they're delicious."
Stacy stared. Rebecca stared. I stared back, hopeful. The face I made must have been illegal somewhere.
"Fine," Stacy surrendered. "But don't do that in front of other people. They'll freak out."
"I'll try my best," I said, which was not a promise, and reached for another piece of meat. The skin crunched under my teeth. Juice ran across my tongue in a way that made my muscles briefly forget they hurt.
"How long was I asleep?" I asked between bites.
"A month," Rebecca said, sliding a bowl of stew closer. "The doctor said your system needed to reset after what it pulled, pulling you back."
A month. The number had weight, but it didn't crush anything. I filed it, neat. "Explains the hunger."
We ate. Or I did, and they watched with the kind of quiet that sounds like approval when you've had too many meals under observation. The stew burned my tongue in a way that wasn't pain, exactly-more like a reminder that I was alive. The bread cracked under my fingers, warm and yielding. The greens were salted just right, like someone cared. It felt obscene and normal at the same time.
"About trust," Stacy said eventually, when the first wave of animal need had receded. She'd waited, which I noticed. Her ears were in listening mode again. "You don't have to give it to me today. Or ever. I'll still make sure you eat and sleep and laugh at least once a day. That's the offer."
I chewed and swallowed. "You really want to pamper someone that bites bones?"
"Especially that someone." Her tail flicked. "I'm very stubborn."
"Same," I said. "Stubborn rock."
"Good." She lifted her water. "Two rocks are difficult to push over."
I almost smiled. "Poetry."
Rebecca cleared her throat. "As your maid," she said, "it is my duty to inform you that if you continue at this rate, we'll need to double the kitchen budget."
"That's on you," Stacy told her solemnly. "You said, 'Make everything.'"
Rebecca ignored her. "After you eat, you should sleep. The doctor was right about muscle damage. Tomorrow you can walk the gardens. No training." She looked at me to see if I'd argue.
Bright light. Hold her. Don't move. The old commands tried their keys on old locks. My mind shoved the bolt across, firm. "I'll walk," I said. "And not train." I didn't say much. "For a bit."
Stacy's ears flicked as if she had heard something unspoken. "We can spar with spoons," she offered, mock-solemn. "Very safe. Very slow."
"Idiotic," Rebecca added.
I snorted. The sound felt pleasing in my chest. "We'll see."
We drifted into smaller talks. Not the empty kind. The one with texture. Stacy asked me which sports I liked when I was my true self. I said that I enjoyed running, lifting, and any activities that kept me moving and quiet. She volunteered her favorite hill to sprint at dawn and promised to show me the path that had the meanest incline. Rebecca, the traitor, mentioned a bakery that opened before sunrise and made little buns filled with sweet bean paste. Stacy audibly wrote "bakery ambush" in her mental notebook.
At some point I realized I wasn't scanning the door every thirty seconds. The realization itself tried to spook me. I told them to sit. It did.
When I finally leaned back, full in the way that makes your bones feel heavier and your thoughts lighter, Stacy made a pleased little sound and pointed to a plate of small glazed sweets. "Dessert?"
"Yes," I said immediately.
She laughed. "You really are my child."
"I said maybe." I reached anyway. The glaze cracked like thin ice. The pastry left sugar on my tongue.
We let the quiet be quiet. No lab hum. No drip counting seconds. Just plates settling as they cooled, the house breathing, Rebecca's practical presence, and Stacy's tail drawing lazy question marks in the air.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Rebecca slid a cloth toward me without looking. I took it and pretended it was my idea.
"Thank you," I said. It came out easier than it had any right to.
"You're welcome," Rebecca said, which is how you know someone's not keeping score.
Stacy stretched, arms over her head, like a cat in sunlight. "Tomorrow, we'll get you clothes you like. If you hate dresses, I will buy you pants. If you hate pants, I will buy you weapons. If you hate weapons, I will faint and Rebecca will catch me."
"I won't," Rebecca said.
"See?" Stacy grinned. "Safe. Furthermore, we'll test your senses in the garden. I want to see how far you can hear the kitchen from the far hedge."
"Challenge accepted," I said before my caution could tackle my mouth. "But I'm not calling you 'Mother.' Not yet."
"I'll settle for 'Stacy' for now." She winked. "It'll be Mother' by the end of the season."
"We'll see."
We rose. My legs held. Not gracefully, but they held. Stacy neither offered an arm nor refrained from doing so. She hovered at the edge of reach, the exact distance between smothering and abandoning. It was... impressive. Annoying. Useful.
We headed back toward the guest room. The hall felt warmer on the return, like the walls remembered me now. A maid passed carrying linens and dipped a precise bow; I fought the urge to step out of sight. I didn't need to hide. The thought tried to argue. I ignored it and went silent.
At the doorway to my room, Stacy paused. "Sleep. If you wake in the night, the kitchen is yours. "Bones," she said, lifting a finger, "are only for private consumption."
"Understood." I gave her a look. "No promises about spoons."
She made a delighted noise. I refused to call a chirp. "Good night, Kitsuna."
"Night."
Rebecca appeared as if conjured, set a covered plate on the side table-just in case-and vanished again with housekeeping's specific magic: being everywhere and nowhere, seeing everything and nothing you don't want seen.
I sat on the bed. The sheets reminded me. I eased onto my side and stared at the white ceiling. It stared back, kind and blank.
Strap buckle.
Count down from ten.
Ten-burn
I breathed in, held, and breathed out. The memory slipped away as easily as a hand slides off glass. I was a stubborn rock. Stubborn rocks do not roll unless they decide to.
I touched the marks on my forearms. They were warm and patient. Lightning on the left, fire on the right. Pain and growth. Slowness and skill. Curses that weren't, if I carried them on my terms.
My eyelids got heavy. I let them.
If I dreamed, I didn't remember it. If I woke, I didn't announce it. When morning came, I would test the garden path, smell bread from a ridiculous distance, and pretend not to like the way Stacy's ears perked when I agreed to race her to the far hedge.
For now, I slept-full, warm, alive.
I woke to the promise of breakfast drifting under the door and a traitor stomach trying to sing. A smile did something dangerous to my mouth. I rolled out of bed, stretched until my back popped, and padded barefoot to the door.
In the hall, Stacy waited, tail swaying, wearing an expression that said, "I will absolutely pretend this wasn't a stakeout." Rebecca stood beside her with a tray like a shield.
"Morning," I said.
"Morning," they chorused.
Stacy's eyes crinkled. "Ready to be pampered?"
"Bring it," I said.
We went to the dining hall again. The smells made my bones clap. The table was once more a small country of food. My stomach made a sound only whales should be allowed to make.
"I'd guess anyone would be hungry if they haven't eaten in a month," Rebecca said mildly, pretending she hadn't been waiting to say it.
"I was asleep for a month," I repeated, testing the number now that it was morning-shaped. I nodded to myself. "Right."
"Talk later," Stacy said, sweeping a hand toward the spread. "Eat now."
I looked up-no, at-the table. Then at them. Then I wasn't where I'd been a second before. I was in the chair again, a small demon gusting through a feast.
"Huh," Rebecca said to the air where my confusion had been. "She's fast."
"She's hungry," Stacy corrected, laughing. She watched me with pure amusement until I took a bone between my teeth again. "I take it back. Don't eat the bones."
"I agree," Rebecca said. "How do her teeth even-"
"She's special," Stacy said, and I didn't hate the way she said it. "Kitsune, don't eat the bones. It's not good for you."
I paused, bone poised. "But they're so good."
"Is that your fox side?" Stacy asked, half-surprised, half-proud.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "They're delicious. Please don't take them away."
Stacy pinched the bridge of her nose, ears flattening in theatrical despair. "Fine. But not in front of other people. They'll freak out."
"Thank you." I grinned, all teeth. "I'll try my best." And I started eating again.
I didn't care what people thought. But if it was a banquet, fine-I could behave. Everywhere else?
My delicious bones were absolutely in danger.
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The following day, Stacy came and woke me up. To my surprise, when my head hit the pillow, I instantly fell asleep. I thought I would struggle to sleep with the amount of food I ate beforehand and that I have slept for a month already.
"Did you sleep well, Kitsuna?" Stacy asks.
"Yes, to my surprise, I slept like a log. I thought I would have nightmares or wouldn't even be able to sleep with the amount of food I ate."
"Well, you did eat enough food to fill three tables last night. I ask Rebeca to prepare lots of food again for breakfast. So, eat to your heart's content."
"I will do that. My stomach is already waking up with the smell of the food."
"You can already smell the food?" Stacy asked with a questionable look.
"Un." I nodded.
"That's nice." She smiled.
"I will say it is more a curse than a positive thing. If I concentrate, I can smell the lavender flowers outside that the gardener is watering at the moment. And don't you think he is too old? He is about 70 years old and continues to work for you. His back is going to give out one of these days." Stacy was stunned at what I said. Running towards the window, I saw the gardener holding a hosepipe in one hand while he was hunched over with his other hand on his back.
"Wow, I didn't know. I will talk to Rebeca about that."
"Don't just dismiss him. He is likely still working for a specific reason. Find out why, then work on that. He might have a big family he needs to take care of." After looking for a while, we started walking again.
"Kitsune, just a question? How are you so casual after five years of experiments?" I was stunned for a moment by what she asked.
"Huh!? Where did that come from?" I tried to play it off, but although Stacy may seem like an airhead, she is actually brilliant. I found that out last night. I might have tried to get some information about things, and she just said I should ask her straight instead of doing it the roundabout way. And my lying might be some of the worst there is.
"Your behavior." She didn't raise her voice, but her ears tilted forward, listening in that way that made dodging harder. "It's like you have never been tortured for five years. Yes, you have mental trauma, but the triggers are relatively minor compared to what you have experienced. It's like you have been through something like this before. "Have you experienced something similar in a past life?" Looking at her, I knew she was worried. I just wasn't ready to talk about it with her and didn't trust her enough.
"I don't want to talk about it. It is also in the past; there is no use talking about things that happened in another universe." I started walking faster towards the dining hall.
"I see. When you are ready, talk to me, okay? I will also need to train you how to lie." She chuckled at me.
"Sigh... well, shit. Well, I never tried to lie in my previous life. I just diverted the subject. But thanks. I will do that if I am ready." The last part was only a whisper; only she could hear it.
"You can call Mommy anytime, Hunny Bun." Stacy smiled at me.
"I am not calling you, Mom." I gave her a deadpan look.
