Ann had always known how to turn heads. It wasn’t just the looks—it was the way she moved, spoke, smiled. Like she was in on some joke you didn’t quite understand. But now, with the soft, ringed tail swaying behind her and those expressive tanuki ears twitching at the top of her head, the trickster in her had a whole new stage to play on.

“You’re staring again,” she teased, one hand on her hip as she leaned just slightly forward. The mischievous glint in her eye made it hard to tell if she was annoyed or amused. Probably both.

Her new tanuki traits suited her far too well. The way her tail gave away her mood—flicking when she was impatient, curling when she was embarrassed. The way her ears perked up when she caught onto something you thought you’d hidden. She had a way of seeing through you without losing her warmth.

People often mistook her for shallow or naive, dazzled by the surface. But you knew better. Ann was clever—disarmingly so. She used humor like armor, flirtation like a smokescreen. She read the room before she ever opened her mouth. And when she chose to speak plainly, it hit like a stone skipping across still water—sharp, fast, and surprising.

“You think I’m just the cute one, huh?” she said once, her voice light, but her gaze steady. “Maybe I let people think that. Makes it easier to get the truth out of them.”

She grinned then, tail flicking once, before slipping her hand into yours without another word. Soft fingers, warm grip, deceptively steady. Tanuki or not, Ann was still herself—bright and bold, playful and perceptive. Someone who could make you laugh in one breath and call out your bullshit in the next.

And if she tricked you now and then? Well… you were never mad for long.