When Tails Write the Night

Born of moonlight and myth,

he waits on the threshold between stories—

a fox not of fur, but of smoke and stardust,

each tail a scroll etched in golden flame.

The wind follows him in silence,

trees bow in reverence,

and the stars pause, unsure whether to shine or listen.

He is both guardian and ghost,

scribe and spark—

the ink that dreams use to remember themselves.