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microfic, exploration of current mental state kinda maybe? 

In a well off looking mansion, in some city, the name unimportant, there is a storage room. A few rough bookshelves filled with boring records, crates that are heavier than they look due to their contents. And a surprising lack of dust.

For in one corner is where a foxgirl has to sleep. Treated even lower than the rest of the servants, her only possessions a couple tattered blankets, a few of threadbare outfits, consisting only of the simplest dresses and underwear, and a simple looking necklace, hardly more than a rock on a string.

If you look at night, you can see her, her hair messy, usually in her outfit from the previous day, with visible dirt and grime. Against the wall, one blanket around her, attempting to provide some cushioning and cover, the other folded up as a makeshift pillow. And if you were to see her before she falls asleep, you might notice her quietly letting out the tears she holds in, feeling sad and afraid and in pain.

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