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England 1790
Simon woke from a restless sleep. Cold sweat soaked his night shirt. He sat up, and the silvery light of the rare blue moon crept in through the open cracks in the curtains, just enough for Simon to see the dark shadowing of his unlit candle. He struck a match and lit the candle, and sat still for a moment, waiting for his heart to slow down.
Something, or someone, was calling to him. He could sense it. He quickly changed into a dry nightshirt and pulled on his robe. Taking his candle holder in hand, he found himself walking towards his study. Upon his desk were a few books that had just arrived that day. Books on the Eastern world, about China and her territories. About Japan. He was looking for any information he could about a fox with nine magical tails.
When Simon looked at the painting, the fox stood up and walked towards him. "Please help me, Simon," the soft voice pleaded. The fox looked at him expectantly, tail swishing.
"I'm going crazy," Simon muttered, pulling at his hair.
"You are not going crazy, Simon," the fox answered. "Please help me."
"Well, when you are seeing things that are not there, and hearing a painting talking to you, one is inclined to believe they are going insane," Simon countered.
"I see your point," the fox said sitting down. "Yet I am here. And I feel I must correct you, I am not a painting, and I am very real."
"You are not a painting?" Simon was incredulous.
"No, I am not."
"What then, pray tell, are you? Because to me, you look exactly like a painting."
"I am a gumiho." The fox answered patiently, and in a tone that implied that Simon should very well know this.
"Come again?"
"A gumiho." The fox said serenely, as she spread her tail out so Simon could easily see that there were nine. "A nine-tailed fox. I am sure something of my kind must be mentioned in one of those books that arrived today."
"You are a painting of a nine-tailed fox," Simon corrected, resuming his pacing. "Although, usually you have just one of those." He waved his hand about pointing at her tails, before deciding that might be rude and put his arms back down, shoving his hands into his robe pockets.
"My tails are only visible in this world in full moonlight."
"I have gone mad. Raving mad!" Simon muttered as his hands left his pockets to again tug at his hair and rub his head, trying to clear his mind. "All right, fox..."
"I am a gumiho," the fox corrected.
"Fine, ku-me-ho," Simon amended.
"Better," nodded the fox, her ears twitching.
"It would seem I have gone insane, although I must admit, I appreciate your belief that I have not."
"Will you help me?"
"I'm sure I shall come to regret this," Simon said, "I will help you."
"I am most pleased," the fox replied with a smile.
"What do I need to do?"
"Quickly, place three drops of your blood on my lips, and then kiss me."
And against his better judgment, that is exactly what Simon found himself doing.