She looks around the room. Her mother’s shawl is still draped over the back of the chair by the window. A small ceramic fox—a souvenir from a trip to Inari Shrine when Ichika was seven—sits on the windowsill. Her mother had bought matching ones. Ichika’s fox has a tiny chip on its ear.
Her mother’s fox is gone. Buried.
A small, broken laugh escapes her. It’s the first laugh since October. Seta Ichika - I Don-t Have A Mother Anymore- So...