The fox was getting bigger.
Ariel tilted her head, watching as the six-tailed creature stretched on the stone floor of her chamber. The soft glow of the lanterns flickered against its silken fur, now looking fuller, heavier.
"You're growing so fast," she murmured, running a finger along its ear. It twitched slightly, tilting its head at her, those strange, knowing eyes staring too deeply—too intelligently.
She smiled, shaking off the odd feeling. It was just a pet.
Still, the weight of its gaze lingered as she rose to fetch a small silver bowl from the inner chamber.
"I'll be back in a second," she called playfully over her shoulder.
She stepped into the next room, rummaging through a wooden cabinet. When her fingers brushed the cool metal of the bowl, she turned—
And froze.
The fox was gone.
Her heart gave a sharp, annoyed thud.
"Again?" she muttered, scanning the chamber. It couldn't have just disappeared.
