The Fox Child

Wed, 23 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0000

My mother started changing in the autumn of my tenth year.

At first, the changes were small. She talked to herself in the kitchen. She left food out overnight, bowls of rice and cups of wine arranged on the table as if she was expecting a guest who never arrived.

My father noticed but said nothing. He was a merchant. He spent most of his time on the road, buying silk in the east and selling it in the west. He came home every few weeks, counted his money, gave my mother a kiss on the forehead, and left again.

Child-Hero on Evil Genius

The Fox Child