Jon awoke to pain. His eyes strain against his attempt to regain focus. He looked up to see a fox woman on top of him. A large, red tongue was wrapped around his neck, as she licked his wound. It was her eyes he remembered, the eyes of a fox, they had a blue tint to them. He felt her warm breath on his neck but his own eyes were closed. Her hand was on his arm. The fox woman continued to lick his neck. "You don't feel it," she whispered to him in a low voice. "Don't worry, my dear, it's only healing the initial wound. You'll soon feel the true pain." Then her fingers moved to his neck. Her thumb lightly touched his skin. "Your wounds look to be healing nicely," she said. He tried to open his eyes again, but they did not respond. She then lifted her hand until it was only inches above his neck. Her padded fingers were soft against his skin. The fox woman's fingers moved up to his lips. She felt his mouth moving in response as she gently moved her hand. He could feel her fingers explore his facial features. Her fingers moved against his jaw. He heard her whisper, "Your skin feels so smooth.” Her finger was then moving against the top of his chin, as her other hand began to caress his throat. He could feel the warmth of her touch. As he listened to her soft whispers, his mouth opened, and his tongue slowly started to move back and forth in response to her. He never heard his voice. All he heard were the soft, hypnotic whispers of the fox woman. She whispered his name like an incantation. At the moment he heard them, he knew that he had not been dreaming. His body felt like lead and he knew that he was going to die. But he still had one question for her. “How did I get here?” He croaked out as if he had not spoken in years. No answer came. His voice was muffled so that he could only hear himself. And she knew that he was not asking about a dream, but about his death. She lifted herself off Jon and sat down in front of him. The two sat in disdainful silence for what felt like hours. The fox woman stared at Jon with an expression that was difficult to read. "You're a little…courageous," she finally remarked. "But there were just so many...things…I wanted to say to you." Her expression took on a sorrowful look. Jon looked on with a confused expression. "What do you mean?" "I wanted to tell you that you have no idea what a real…person is. You just…think you know what one is…and what a human one is, and you're wrong. I wanted to tell you that…I don't have any idea what the hell you're doing with this body…I don't even know what you know with what…your mouth says. I'm sorry.” Jon didn’t have time to process what she said before a group of men burst through the door. The fox woman bolted up immediately. "Oh, I-Oh, no, no!" she screamed with all the fear she could muster. One of the men wasted no time in running up and lifting a blade above his head before quickly stabbing the blade into her chest. She felt excruciating pain as the blade pushed deeper into her furred chest. She yelped in pain as the blade passed through the skin, slicing into her soft flesh. Blood began to run down her furred coat, splattering upon the cold floor. “What the hell?” The sound of metal clashing against metal echoed through the room. The man stopped his attack, turning from the fox to see a pair of swords clattering against each other. He watched the blades collide, a sickening sound of metal colliding, metal scraping against metal, metal shattering against metal as they met. They continued to clash as they drew closer, closer to the flesh of the fox. The woman collapsed on the floor in a pool of blood, the swords now in contact with each other. There was only one remaining option: kill the fox, who seemed to be screaming in pain from the wound. It would be the easiest killing, and it would be quick. He was about to make that decision when the other swordsmen, dressed in black armor, stepped into the room. The pair of swordsmen were much shorter than Jon and their armor was more ornate, and they were not as intimidating to Jon. The two men looked like any other men in a manor and were not dressed like nobles, but like commoners. They were not dressed well, they didn't care, they knew it was a killing ground. The man wearing the black armor stepped towards the fox woman. He drew one of his swords. She was only a fox, a weak little creature. Jon looked to the man wearing the red, a man. He was much bigger than the two swordsmen, the armor was not as ornate, and he also wore his sword. He looked like any ordinary male. The fox woman began sobbing, trying to protect her face, to save herself from what she knew was about to happen. Jon couldn't even begin to imagine what would happen now. Would they just take her, leave her to die, without taking revenge? It was as far from the path he wanted to take as he could get. He watched helplessly as the fox woman was torn apart. There was nothing he could do. He felt nothing. He felt nothing because he was a coward. A coward. There was nothing Jon could have done. He was a coward. He watched the fox women squirm helplessly as her blood drained onto the floor. When he finally turned his back, he felt nothing at all. There was nothing he could do. There is only that feeling. A deep hollow that fills the gut. A numbness that comes with seeing a living creature die. Jon had felt this before. He had been a coward. He was afraid to face what he knew was happening. To face his own mortality. He would be unable to feel anything. He would be unable to feel the pain, or the sadness, or the emptiness. He would feel nothing. He would feel nothing. He was nothing to his father and brother. He would be nothing to the world. There should be a way. There is always a way. It is just that there have not been enough people who have lived for the longest amount of time to be able to see through the darkness and see the light. If there were such a way, Jon would have seen it. Jon's life would have been the same. Jon felt nothing. He felt nothing. The fox woman's blood dripped onto the floor. She was dead, the blood dripped off her back. She had died, but it would not be enough. The pain would be too great for the others to bear. Jon felt that numbness creeping over him. It was just that feeling. He felt nothing. There is only that feeling. Just that feeling. He felt nothing. The blood dripped onto the floor. She was dead, the blood drip on her back. She had died, the pain was too great. Jon felt nothing. That was that feeling. And in that pain, the pain had become so much, that his mind became numb. His mind was numb. His mind was numb. He could hear nothing but the drip on the floor. He heard nothing at all. The pain had become so much, but he had heard nothing. The blood drip on the floor was all. The blood drip. He heard nothing at all. "What is it?" he mouthed to them. "What is it?" He mouthed to no one in particular. He could hear nothing but the drip. "What is it?" he asked himself. He heard nothing except the drip. The drip. The drip. He could hear nothing but the drip. The drip. His brain couldn't comprehend what was happening. His brain couldn't comprehend why he was doing something he wanted to do. His brain couldn't comprehend why he was doing something he was doing. His brain couldn't comprehend why this was happening. His brain couldn't comprehend why the drip was doing what it was doing. His brain couldn't understand the difference between this and the previous. His brain couldn't comprehend the drip because the drip was doing nothing. The drip. The drip. There was nothing he could do. The drip. His brain, like every human brain, couldn't comprehend. His brain, like every human brain, couldn't comprehend. The drip. The drip. He was in a trance. He was in a trance. He was in a trance. He was in a trance. The drip. He was going somewhere. The drip. The drip. He was awake. He was awake. He was awake. He was awake. He wasn't dreaming. He wasn't dreaming. He wasn't dreaming. He wasn't dreaming. He wasn't dreaming. The drip. The drip. He was asleep. He was asleep. He was asleep. "What was it?" he asked the empty room. He was tired. The drip. The drip. He was asleep. "What was it?" he asked the empty room. He was tired. He looked back. The men had left. The fox woman lay dead on the floor. The door was closed. The room became silent. It was just him, the dead woman, and the door. It was all he could do not to scream in agony. He sat there, his back to the door, aching like a horse after a hard, cold race. He could hear the men talking, but he could not see or hear them. All he heard was his own breathing and the muffled voices outside. The fox woman's voice came through the door, "I am so glad. The pain has vanished. The pain has vanished. I am so glad...." Jon looked up to the ceiling, a little dazed, then went back to looking at the corpse. The fox woman's voice echoed through the room. "I love you, and the pain has gone, and the pain is gone...." Then her voice was gone. Then a soft, soothing sound. It was the fox woman's voice, "I am so glad. The pain is gone...." Then nothing. The room was dark. He heard the door open slowly. His own breathing. "What was it?" he asked. "I am so glad, and the pain is gone. I am so glad. I can hear you breathing again. I can hear you breathing still.” And the fox woman was gone. He listened in silence. She was gone. He listened to the door again. He heard a sound. Something like a door opening. There is no time for thoughts. His mind was filled with the soft fox woman's voice, "I love you, the pain is gone, and the pain is gone. I am so glad, the pain is gone." When the door closed he heard his own breathing again. In the darkness he sat in silence. He asked the fox woman. "I was wondering, why are you talking to me?" But she was gone. He asked again, "Why are you taking to me?" She only returned silence. It’s hard to talk. ... The fox woman slithered up to Jon and wrapped her nine tails around him. The tails became a living extension of her body as they began wrapping around him, and its nine mouths bit down onto Jon's skin. Then the fox woman opened her mouth again. Jon was thrown off his feet as the fox woman grabbed hold of him and pulled him down to the ground. The fox woman began to suck on Jon's neck and then started to bite down on Jon's skin even harder than she had before. As the fox woman devoured Jon's neck, she began to tear at his skin, leaving blood dripping down the fox woman's breasts. Jon was unable to get away from the fox woman as she bit down even more on Jon's skin. Then Jon felt the fox woman bite down on his mouth. The fox woman started to suck on Jon's tongue again and then began to slither her hands down his body. Jon was unable to resist as the fox woman continued to suck on his mouth. Jon began to get hard as the fox woman began to move her hands on Jon's thighs. The fox woman began to slowly and steadily slide her hand up Jon's legs. Jon's penis became engorged with a sudden rush of energy as the fox woman started to stroke Jon's cock with both hands. Jon moaned as the fox woman continued to slide both hands up and down his cock. This continued for several minutes before Jon started to feel his climax. His legs began to shake violently. He began to spasm and shake. He had become so aroused that he could not control himself anymore. He grabbed the fox woman as he began to ejaculate onto her. As the high subsided, he reached over and gently took her nipple and twisted it around until her nipple was just erect. Jon pulled the nipple up and began to enter the warm fox’s pussy. The fox woman was not able to stop her loud moans. Her mind was spinning. She was so close. She thought he was going to cum all over her. She was so in control. She did everything she could but to no avail. Her orgasm was going to be like nothing she had seen before. She had never cum so intensely before in her entire life. Jon was holding her down now. He was about to cum with her. Her body was so wet and hot. She couldn't hold it down. Jon had held her in place. Her orgasm was going to be so powerful. She was ready to explode. She could feel it building. She had been holding it down for so long. She could take it if she had to. As she spammed from her orgasm, Jon’s vision started to cloud. Her moans grew distant as his vision returned to the sight of the empty house and the corpse of the fox woman. Jon's mind was still hazy. In a moment, there would be no doubt. And then he would be lying face first on her stomach, feeling her hair. There was a noise behind him that he had heard a thousand times over, the sound of his own breathing. "Don't worry about it," he called back. But he did worry about it. He lay still for a long time. Then he started to get up. It took him a good minute to get up. He had to hold himself up, because the floor was so hard, his muscles weren't yet working correctly. Even so, he managed to rise. When he finally stood, the fox woman was gone, but the corpse remained. The floor was slick with blood. It smelled rotten and musty. It smelled bad to him. He had no idea what he was doing. He had nothing to do but lie there. His eyes were burning. He couldn't see anything. It was as if he were in a strange room and his eyes were the only thing he could see. The smell of death came through the ceiling and he couldn't breathe properly. He tried to lift himself but his body didn't want to move. He tried to breathe deeply. He didn't even understand what he was trying to do. The floor was so hard there was no room to move. His hands were numb. He couldn't even touch the wall. It was as if he was lying in a coffin and nothing inside could move or breathe. It was horrible. He tried to pull himself up with his knees. He was still trying when the floor finally gave way. The fox woman collapsed backwards. The corpse fell on the floor. He couldn't move because his body was too weak and there was no air to breathe. His eyes were burning and his body was shaking. The corpse was a good fifty feet away; he thought. The corpse was covered in blood. It was moving toward him and he would run out of air quickly. He tried to pull himself up. He was too weak. His legs would fall out from under him at any moment. He was too weak. He had nothing to do but lie there, unable to move or speak. It was as if he was dead. And yet he was alive. He knew the difference. He was alive, alive. He saw it plainly. He was alive. It was as if he had a soul and his body had no soul. He realized. He was dead. He died. And yet he lived. He could see it plainly. He saw it clearly in his mind. He had a soul. He was a man and he lived. He understood that. He understood that the soul was a thing which moved and could live. His life had a soul. It was a living thing and it had a soul. It was as if he had a soul and his life lived. But he did not. It was as if he did not have a soul. The body had no soul, but it had life. It was a living thing and a body. It was a man living and a body which died. It was as if he died at the same time as the soul. He could see it plainly. Images of the fox woman’s face swirled around him. Her psychedelic eyes were like black holes. They were sucking him into nothing. They could consume him. He wanted to scream. But he could not speak. The image vanished and he sat there, feeling his body dissolve as he did. His face turned black and then gray. And yet he thought he was still breathing. He did not realize he was dead. He could not even see himself. But now he stood, his feet kicking in the grass. He was gone. His body had no legs, but he had life. He was still alive. He was alive, his body was alive, his life was alive, his soul was alive, and his body had the soul. But his body was not as alive as the soul and the soul was not as alive as his body. His body did not have life, but the soul had life. It had life and it lived. His mind and his memory were now alive. He felt them. He felt them in his body. The memory and his mind were alive. He felt both of them in his mind now. The memory was a thing which moved, and moved. His memory did not move, but the mind moved. The brain was alive and conscious. He knew that the mind lived and that there was a soul behind the mind and the soul was as alive as the body was and it had life and it lived. But now he had only the life in his body, not the soul. What was he but a living thing with a soul? What was his life but life? He was a living thing. He could die. He could become a corpse. But it was so far removed from his experience of the soul that he could not understand that his body had the soul and would become a corpse at the same time as his soul. The fox woman laughed. He felt it in his chest. He was afraid to laugh. The woman laughed, as if she were laughing at him, like it was a joke. And he remembered almost laughing at the fox woman back there. She had been laughing at him, a thing that was laughing at him. She had been laughing at him. It was like her laughing was some kind of laugh, but it wasn't laughter. He could laugh in front of her. He laughed to himself, laughing at his own laugh and at his own laughter. But his body could not laugh, because he was not laughing at it. What was he but a body? He was as much of a thing as she was. But the mind was a thing and so it was too much of a thing for him to be. He was more of a thing than she was and she was more of a thing than he was. The moon hung below the clouds. He could not see the moon as he walked on the grass, but he thought he saw it. He thought he saw the shadow of the moon. The moon hung below the clouds. "The grass is a little too green," he thought. But the pain didn't go away. When he looked up from the grass, the moon was right there in the sky. He looked at his hands which were still in the air. She told him not to look up. She said it was wrong for a person to look at the moon. He looked up. He saw that he was standing on a hilltop. He realized, of course, that the grass and the grass were his hands. He looked down. The grass was on the ground. The moon hung below the clouds. He thought that the fox woman was a little like the moon. It was the fox woman that had changed from a bright, brilliant moon to the pale white moon. It was like a little child's face, and the child was the fox woman. In his eyes, the moon looked as pale and pale as the clouds, and it looked at him. But, he thought, there wasn't anyone there for him to love. It was the sun that loved him. It was the moon that loved him, but that meant nothing. What was he to love? It was nothing that he had to love. It was nothing. What was life, then? It was nothing. It was nothing. He knew nothing. He was no man, nor beast. He was a shadow of his old self. But he was still alive. It was nothing. So, with the same thought that we had as a man, he looked up at the dark and said to it, "You have to know. You have to know." It laughed at him. It laughed at him, and laughed and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. "You have to know." The moon laughed at him. It laughed at him, and laughed and laughed, and laughed. He heard the fox woman laughing. He collapsed, and fell into unconsciousness. ... When the fox woman slept, he slept in front of her as she lay on her side. When he slept, she slept in a different position. She awoke to pain everywhere, like all of her bones had been individually crushed by boulders. She tried to get up, but the pain persisted. She lay on her back for hours, until the pain in her back worsened. When she could still not sit up, she stretched her arms up into the air, so that she would feel the grass as well as the soft wind. She stretched up so high and so far that her head struck the air. She could not hear the grass, so she thought that the wind had blown it away. The smell of a small flame lingers in her nose. She lay on the grass again, waiting for the pain to go away. The pain was still there. The fox woman lay in the grass, numb from the pain. She shifted in her position, marred by a sharp blade she was laying upon. She remembered little. She tried to remember more, but the memories were gone before she could think of how to try. The man in the white fur coat was gone. Her mother was dead, too, and the man in the fur coat was gone. That was the last memory she had, but it was a pleasant memory, not painful, and she tried to think of the next. The sun was rising above the horizon, but the fox felt so tired. She could hardly open her eyes, but she still felt the heat of the fire. The fire's smell was a warm, comforting scent. She tried to think of the next memory of the man in the fur coat. Who was he? What did he look like? A few minutes of thought and she finally remembered. She could not make out much beyond the fact that he was taller than she was, and had black hair. He was wearing a white fur coat with a silver lining on the front. What? But it was still so new and fresh in her mind and it felt so right, it was perfect. She could not remember more, so she tried to remember again. There was nothing else. There was nothing more to do. What was left? She tried to think of something. Something new. Something new, a new kind of memory, a memory that had dug itself into the depths of her mind. She remembered a name, Hera. Was it her name? His name? She couldn’t remember. It frustrated her. Like torn rags in an old blanket, holes in her memory which couldn’t be filled. She could feel her breath in her mouth, felt her chest rising and falling. Her hands were shaky. Her head was foggy. She could feel her throat closing over her words, she could feel her body moving, the muscles in her legs were trembling. She coughed. Her eyes were unfocused, her mind was foggy, her body aching. She couldn’t see. She coughed. She coughed again. She coughed until her throat closed over her words. She coughed again. Her throat closed over her words. She coughed again, and again. She was trying to speak, to say the words, to tell the words, but she couldn't. They were as lost as a man lost in a fog. She was afraid to breathe. She could hear it. Her name. A voice that was no one's voice. A voice that had spoken in a language she had never heard. Her throat felt like a sponge. Her ears folded back. Her eyes were watering. Those words cut her in half, like a knight executing a criminal. Her mind was falling apart, and she knew it. Even as the memory of the words burned in her memories, as the thought of what she had done burned in her mind, she knew what she had done. She sat up, numb to the pain, and brought her hand up to her snout. Her hand trembled on her mouth, and she reached for the knife. She grabbed it. She held it in front of her with trembling fingers. She heard a voice. It was not her voice. “No.” It was the voice. The voice that had spoken in a language she had never heard. She tried to focus her eyes. And she saw the blade. She saw, with all of her being, the blades edge. The edge that pierced the flesh of her chest. The blade that cut the flesh of her heart. The edge that cut through every last thread in her body. Her eyes went from blade to blade. One, two, three, four, five, and she heard the sound of a scream. "No!" The blade, the knife, she gripped with all her strength. She slammed the blade down onto her breast. She screamed as the knife cut into her breast, she screamed as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. "NO!" She knew she had been wrong. And then, with each sound, she knew she was right. And then… She was wrong. She didn't deserve to die. She wouldn't have wanted to die. She had been killed. She, who had once held so much pain and agony and terror inside of her. She was not alone. She was with the other. It was like she had been struck by lightning in a thunderstorm. She pulled the blade out of her chest and fell back into the grass she once slept on. Before her soul left her body, she saw a familiar figure stand over her. He said something frantically, but she couldn’t hear it.