She was also called a Variant.
This was why she was imprisoned in the yard.
But it was alright.
As long as Mom was there, that was enough.
Coquetry, listening to stories, coquetry, listening to stories...
Round and round it went, as the seasons changed, in a hasty thirty years.
The first half of her life, compared to the bleak period that followed, was actually filled with warmth.
But now she knew that her birth was nothing but a false lie.
Were those warm memories also fake?
What, exactly, did Mom think of me?
The Little Fox Lady's vacant eyes began to show a glimmer of light.
She wanted to know the answer.
The distorted shape next to her sensed that the girl, who was nearly heartbroken, had suddenly rekindled a spark.
The served duck going to fly away again?
It did not allow such things to happen.
A line of text began to be written in Its hands.
