I was not sure then, when she asked me. When it was a long time ago. And sometimes I still find small broken china pieces, uncertainly lurking on the floor, waiting to pounce and pierce. She asked me in the fading dusk, in the sleepy haze, when I could not have known. She left me with it to fend for myself through a hollow night. She peered at me with those eyes that darken the space around them to draw prey to the light. Beguiling, dancing across her cheeks, deeper into the woods I was dragged by the smile, the smug, poisoned smile.
“Who are you?” And the Fox Lady, as I regard her so, vanished, like the days I left absentmindedly on the window sill and were stolen by the wind. I was always semi-dreaming and breathing in no one. I laid by Forget at night.