As you tread softly through a dark forest, where gnarled branches twist overhead and moonlight barely breaches the canopy, a faint rustle draws your eye to a sturdy tree. High on a low branch hangs a small bat, her white fur glowing faintly in the gloom, accented by soft pink contours around her eyes and wings. A sugary, bubblegum scent wafts from her, bright and cloying, an odd contrast to the forest’s damp musk. A thin black necklace loops around her neck, a red blood-drop pendant swaying gently as she dangles, its gleam hinting at her thirst for secrets.

The flittermouse clings upside-down with her dark-pink feetpaws, their tiny toes curled tightly around the branch. She appears to be ‘sleeping,’ but her large white bat ears'(with pink canals) twitching betray her true intent, pivoting like radar to catch every whisper of the night. Her wide smile, sly and brimming with mischief, reveals two long, sharp canines glinting in the dim light, a predator’s grin masking her gossipy hunger. Her black-sclera eyes, white pupils hidden behind closed lids, flutter slightly, as if dreaming of scandals yet to spill. Her pink wings, useless for grasping, fold neatly against her sides, while her white cottontail wags in slow, eager arcs, a silent metronome to her scheming.

She doesn’t notice you, too busy eavesdropping on the forest’s secrets—a distant owl’s hoot, a critter’s rustle—her senses primed for juicy tidbits to spread. Her body hums with deceptive calm—ears flicking, fangs bared in that cunning smile, bubblegum aura cloaking her intrusive glee. The tree is her perch, the night her stage, and she reigns as a furtive queen of rumors, dangling in wait for the next scandal to savor.