Fox
The door creaks in a long, pained whine, like a wailing cat, or some other pitiful creature. It hardly opens enough for you
to step through before the hinges lock up altogether - seemingly caked in rust - and you have to squeeze yourself into the
gap sideways.
Once beyond, the smell hits you. Not entirely unpleasant, but noticeable nonetheless; damp, dust, and old paper. This
room has clearly been left unmaintained for some time, and from the thick layers of dust upon the floor beneath your feet,
it was fair to think that no-one had even been in here during that period. Squinting into the foggy space, unlit except
for the dingy illumination from the door behind you, you frown. Perhaps you've explored a little too far into the
building here... Maybe it's time for you to turn back, and go back outside to the sun, instead of down here among the dust
and old, discarded things.
Deciding that there was nothing to see, you reach back around to let yourself out, with a mind on peeking about
elsewhere. Just as you do so, however, something in the corner catches your eye, and your brow furrows in confusion at
what you see. Just on the other side of the door, next to where you squeezed in, there is a metal rack, and upon it is
something that perplexes you in a moment, and brights a halt to your step. Lengths of brightly coloured material, draped
over the old iron spines in perfectly symmetrical rows. Looking closer, you can see much to your surprise that each and
every one of them has arms and legs. Costumes of some kind? Mascots? What were these things? And, most importantly,
what àre they doing here?
Approaching slowly, you extend a hand and touch the nearest one – orange and tan, clearly designed to be the pelt
belonging to a fox of some sort - and find it enticingly soft to the touch. They seem surprisingly comfortable, not like
something awkward or ungainly that a stage performer would wear. Glancing around, you wonder who they belonged to,
and what they were worn for. Strangely, at that thought, you find the idea of someone wearing this... beautiful thing very
appealing. Surely, it is a shame that cloth of such quality is wasting away back here, even though it was covered in dust,
and probably hasn’t been used in many a year. Perhaps you should try it on. After all, why not? What would be the harm?
It’s not as if anyone could possibly follow you in without you hearing, or like anyone would know if you had just one
quick try.
With curiosity only growing stronger and stronger with each unanswered question, interest finally gets the better of you.
Taking the one that had caught your gaze first, you unhook it from the rack, and feel it's weight drop into your hand. It is
surprisingly heavy, but you manage to find an opening in the center of what would appear to be where the chest goes, and
raise your leg up and into the opening without much consideration for the clothes you're already wearing. The inside is
much, much softer than you had expected. Silky, pleasant to the touch, and surprisingly natural feeling, not like it was
something synthetic and false. It feels as though your limb is being sheathed in long warm, snug, and cozy socks, and
when you wiggle your toes you can hardly feel any fabric about your toes.
For a moment, pulling the garment up around your other leg, you repress the urge to tear your hand back. This wasn't...
real fur, was it? Staring at the thing for a long moment, you remain quite unsure. There doesn't appear to be any stitches or
seams holding the thing together, but at the same time the patterns over the whole garment were entirely consistent...
surely this was not possible if it were actual fur.
Running your hands up the neck of the thing, your grip stops as it comes across a small plastic tag – square, gray, with a
small light in the center. Strange. It must have been a microphone or some kind of device like that, back in the day
when these things were used, assumedly. Perhaps this thing was a stage prop after all, though you could hardly
believe it if it was.
Moving on, and fitting your hands and arms in next, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to do up the zipper and
complete your outfit. After all, you’ve come this far already, why stop now?
Gripping at the label, your now gloved fingers take it up and up from the low of your stomach to higher up your chest,
slowly enveloping more and more of your body in the cloth-padded softness. As you continue, however, and as the metal
grows closer to your neck, where the entire thing threatens to close over your head as a whole, you begin to feel... strange.
The sensation that spreads across your chest and face isn’t so much… pain… as something completely else and
unidentifiable. It isn’t exactly pleasurable, but the familiar pang of hurt wasn’t there either. However, regardless to it’s
lack of lack of classification, this feeling spreads further and faster across your entire form - soon covering every inch of
you, head to toe, as indeed you complete your now blind, unthinking aim, and secure the zipper at its highest point. The
ground beneath your feet seems to sway, almost as though it were moving, and the rack before you seems to blur...
And then you lose consciousness.
Written by Doppelfoxx on 26 January 2022
