The soft light of early morning crept through the blinds, brushing thin lines across the floorboards and the edge of the bed where Eri y curled in her ten tails. The room smelled faintly of sheets and warm fur, of the quiet night just passed. Outside, birds were beginning to chirp, but inside the room, there was only stillness.

  A soft tap on the shoulder startled her awake. Her ears twitched reflexively, fttening slightly against her head as her amber eyes flicked open.

  “Eri?” Mira’s voice was gentle, careful. She perched on the edge of the bed, knees tucked under her, eyes soft. There was no judgment in her expression—only warmth. The faintest smile touched her lips as she took in the sight before her: the ten long, white tails fanning out across the bed, the ears atop her head flicking with unease, the small, tense curl of her body.

  Eri froze instantly. Her eyes widened, ears fttening further, tail-tips twitching nervously. The memory of st night—of the broken neckce, the uncontrolled surge of freedom, the complete abandonment of restraint—hit her like a crashing wave. Her stomach twisted.

  Her fingers instinctively curled under her chest as she tried to make herself small, to hide some of the massive, shifting weight of her tails. Her mind raced. What do I do? What do I say? Should I pretend I didn’t…? The panic throbbed in her chest as every tail quivered under the sheets.

  Mira, however, seemed calm, almost knowing. Her smile softened further as she leaned just slightly closer. “Good morning,” she said, voice low and warm. “You slept well?”

  Eri’s eyes darted to her sister, guilt and fear twisting in her chest. She wanted to curl tighter, to hide beneath her tails, to vanish entirely. She didn’t respond. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. She couldn’t risk it—couldn’t risk a slip that would give away the truth in the worst possible way.

  Mira’s gaze followed her, patient and unhurried. Then her eyes flicked down slightly—and froze.

  The broken remnants of the neckce peeked from under the pillow, the charm split and jagged, cord dangling uselessly. Mira’s expression softened into a knowing smile, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of concern. She didn’t gasp. She didn’t scold. She simply nodded very slightly, the way someone who had been expecting this might, and said nothing.

  Eri’s stomach plummeted. Her tail-tips quivered violently, ears pressing ft against her head. She knows.

  “What… what should I do?” Eri whispered, voice trembling, barely audible, tail twitching as she hugged herself tighter. She didn’t dare meet Mira’s eyes. She couldn’t expin the relief, the freedom, the terror all at once. She felt raw, exposed, the fragile barrier of secrecy shattered by a simple gnce.

  Mira leaned forward just a fraction, letting one hand hover near Eri’s back without touching, as if giving permission rather than forcing comfort. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “You don’t have to expin right now.”

  Eri’s breath caught. Her eyes flicked nervously toward her sister. It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done it. I broke it. Everything… everything is going to change.

  Mira’s gaze softened further. “I understand,” she said, voice low but steady.

  The words hit Eri in a rush, a strange mix of fear and relief. She blinked rapidly, ears twitching, tails curling protectively around herself. The weight of her secret—of her existence, of her body, of everything—was so heavy, so constant, yet Mira’s understanding made it feel… lighter, somehow.

  “I—I… I didn’t mean to—” Eri began, but the words faltered.

  Mira shook her head gently. “It’s alright. You didn’t hurt anyone. And you’re safe here.” Her voice was calm, steady, unwavering. She leaned back slightly, giving Eri space but keeping her warm, unspoken presence close.

  Eri exhaled, a long, shuddering breath, tail-tips quivering as she curled further into herself. The knot of fear in her chest didn’t disappear, but Mira’s reaction—her warmth, her understanding—was like a soft weight settling over the panic, taming it just enough that Eri could breathe without trembling.

  Her hands pressed against the bed, fingers sinking slightly into the sheets as she slowly shifted closer to Mira, testing the waters of trust and safety. Mira responded with the smallest of smiles, letting her presence be enough. No questions. No judgments. Just acceptance, patient and enduring.

  Eri’s ears flicked, tails swishing nervously, before she gave a tentative purr, soft and quivering. Mira chuckled quietly, a gentle, soothing sound. She reached out then, brushing a hand softly over one of the white ears. Eri’s purr grew slightly louder, more confident, as the soft touch traveled down, trailing over her neck and along a tail, prompting another ripple of involuntary contentment.

  “You’re okay,” Mira whispered, her voice like a quiet anchor in the storm of Eri’s emotions. “I’ve got you. You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

  Eri’s body rexed fractionally, her tails wrapping loosely around her like soft armor. The fear was still there, gnawing at her chest, reminding her of the broken neckce and what had happened—but for now, Mira’s presence was enough.

  “I… I don’t know what to do,” Eri admitted finally, voice barely above a whisper, ears ft in apprehension.

  “Then we’ll figure it out,” Mira said simply. “One step at a time. You don’t have to do it alone.”

  Eri blinked, the tension in her chest easing slightly, her tails settling a little. The world outside her room was still Ethan’s world, still demanding and impossible in some ways—but here, in this quiet morning light, with her older sister understanding and accepting her, she could allow herself a breath.

  A small, shaky smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Mira’s warmth, her patience, the quiet understanding—Eri had not felt safe like this in years. and she allowed herself to feel that maybe, just maybe, she could survive this fractured existence, one small step at a time.

  Ears flicking, tails curling protectively, Eri finally lifted her head, meeting Mira’s gaze. There was fear still, yes—but also a fragile spark of trust, of relief. And Mira’s smile widened, gentle and knowing, a silent promise: whatever came next, Eri wouldn’t have to face it alone.

  The morning sun filled the room, light spilling across fur and sheets and a broken neckce hidden beneath the pillow, glinting faintly like shards of what had been a chain—but for now, it didn’t matter. For now, she was safe.

  And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.