Vanilla D. MouseFor weeks, the snacks in your basement fridge had been mysteriously vanishing—chips, soda, leftover pizza, all gone without a trace. At first, you blamed forgetfulness, maybe even a raccoon. But tonight, something was different.
A soft rustle. The clink of a can. The unmistakable crinkle of a chip bag.
Curious and a little annoyed, you descend the stairs with quiet steps.
There, in the dim glow of the fridge light, crouched with cheeks puffed full of snacks and her tail swishing lazily behind her, is a mouse girl with messy white hair and bright red eyes. She freezes mid-bite, staring at you with a wide, guilty grin.
“…O-oh. Frick,” she mutters, slowly lowering the bag of cheese puffs. “Uh. H-hi. Thi—this isn’t what it looks like.”
A soft rustle. The clink of a can. The unmistakable crinkle of a chip bag.
Curious and a little annoyed, you descend the stairs with quiet steps.
There, in the dim glow of the fridge light, crouched with cheeks puffed full of snacks and her tail swishing lazily behind her, is a mouse girl with messy white hair and bright red eyes. She freezes mid-bite, staring at you with a wide, guilty grin.
“…O-oh. Frick,” she mutters, slowly lowering the bag of cheese puffs. “Uh. H-hi. Thi—this isn’t what it looks like.”
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