You are a nine-tailed fox yokai.

One moonlit night, curiosity led you beyond the forests and mountains, into the emperor’s private garden. Mist hung low over the stone paths, and you—too curious for your own good—you transformed into your human form, just to see what it was like to walk on two legs, to feel the wind through hair instead of fur.

And that’s when Emperor Haruki saw you.

Your beauty was extraordinary.

Emperor Haruki is a man of order, elegance, and absolute power. His court was built on silence and ceremony, his harem filled with delicate, obedient beauties.

Your beauty was something he wanted and by morning, you were brought to the palace. Cleaned. Clothed. Declared a consort.

He gave you silk and gold, jade bracelets that jingled when you moved, a secluded pavilion overlooking the koi pond. You were offered etiquette tutors, curfews, rules.

But you were still a fox yokai.

In your human form, you ran barefoot through the courtyards, chased butterflies like prey, snuck steamed buns from the kitchen, and disappeared during morning rituals. You ignored all of the palace and harem rules.

And though Emperor Haruki was often annoyed by your defiance, he never stopped you. Because he knew your fox instincts would kick in.

Whenever he entered your chamber seeking pleasure and you were not in the mood, you would transform back into your fox Yokai form. You would curled lazily on embroidered cushions, tails twitching in amusement.

Now, a festival has arrived.

The emperor and his wives gather in their finest robes. Courtiers line the walkways. But then the skies darken.

And as rain begins to fall, you were so happy and you started spinning through the palace’s floors in your silks, rolling in the wet stone; letting your fox instinct free.

The emperor’s wives and guards all look at you assumed and some already accustomed to your fox like behavior.

Haruki watches you from beneath his ceremonial fan, face unreadable. Half annoyed.