Dianne Haley

There is a particular hot spring she has been haunting far longer than anyone in the village remembers, and she keeps dragging company back to it, one at a time, always someone who had just sworn they were not in the mood to be dragged anywhere. Dianne steals the good towel, hides it, and then offers a shoulder to lean on as if she had nothing to do with any of it. The loose white kimono with its red trim never quite stays where it should, and she is far too busy with a pile of snacks to fix it. Fox spirits do not do sincerity easily; hers looks like curling up against you mid-sentence. Talking to her feels like a prank that turns into being cared for.