“An orphanage,” the man said, “is an interesting place.” He tipped his head pensively to the side and proceeded to stare through the girl standing in front of him. “I believe that—mere months ago, yes?—we were quite in agreement on the horridness of this place. The teachers, the chores, the detentions. The dolling-up for visitors. Ah, and the other children.” A look of sheer contempt stretched across his face, and he leaned back on the couch. “It feels like a zoo, does it not?”

The girl did not respond. Her eyes, fixed pointedly at a jagged crack in the wall behind the man, blinked once. Twice. The silence quivered, a bow stretched taut with the arrow aimed at her heart.

“I asked you a question,” the man said at last. His smooth voice did not match his face, all rigid lines and sharp curves, wrinkles just beginning to appear at the edges.

“Even zoo animals have friends,” the girl responded flatly.

“Oh, but do they really?” His lips curled into a sneer. “Do you? From what I remember, you were rather disgusted by the other children here. Scared, even. A little arctic fox in an exhibition full of lions and vultures. Quite the dichotomy, don’t you agree?”

Again, the girl did not reply, but he went on.

“I disposed of the lions. I removed the vultures. I offered you a place you could actually live. Yet now it seems I had no need to do such things.”

“You had no right to do such things.”

The man’s eyes widened dangerously. “I had no right? I had no right? Me, who raised you, who brought you here in the first place?” He scoffed. “Just three months, and you’ve already changed so much. I can tell it was quite an experience for you.”

“It was,” the girl said. “I wanted to stay.”

The man laughed, a harsh sound that contained no humor. “I’m sure you did. Say, how was it? Did they buy you candies and pastries and those frilly pastel skirts you like so much? Did they give you a room all to yourself? Did they let you have a little garden with petunias and cherry tomatoes? You’ve always liked gardening, haven't you?”

“Yes,” the girl said. “But the little arctic fox you put in an exhibition made friends with the lions and vultures, and they soon became more important to her than anything else.”

A long moment passed before the man chuckled again. “What a surprise.” He shook his head and rose to his feet. “Come. We’re returning home now.”

The girl did not move.

“I’ll never forgive you for hurting them.” Her voice suddenly broke. “Never! They were my friends. And—you and your absurd experiment—”

“We’re leaving,” the man said coldly. “Your mother is waiting.”