7 to settle over the clearing. At this point she carefully put her items away, securing her cloak yet again, and left the clearing. Looking back only once, she saw the fox’s eyes peering out from its den—golden like honeysuckle. Back at the tavern she ordered some broth yet again, and as she watched the crowd, she realized that the group of men that had been there the past two nights seemed to be betting on her success and, based on the amount of gold that was being passed to the elderly woman at the end of the bar, most had bet against her continuing the task. She smiled to herself as she ate her broth, knowing that she only had one more day to succeed and unworried that she would fail. The next day, the final day, she went to the clearing and sat right next to the foxhole. She opened the final pages of the journal and read the more recent events. She did not react when the fox came out of its hole, nor did she react when it curled up on her lap and peered at the journal, seemingly reading along with her. Since there were so few pages left to read, she finished the journal shortly before lunch. She shared her lunch with the fox in her lap, not once daring to reach for the key that hung around its neck. After lunch, they dozed together in the afternoon sun, lazing about. When she woke from her nap at dusk, the fox was long gone, but in its place was the key, nestled very carefully upon her lap. She grabbed the key, securing her cloak yet again, and went to the tavern, grinning to herself the whole way. The jeers that she was met with upon entering the tavern did nothing to dampen her spirits, though she did not show it. She pretended she had not succeeded in her task, as she knew her Willow would come to her. She always came to her eventually. The tavern drew silent upon the opening of the door, as the most beautiful maiden entered. She seemed to float across the tavern and the crowd parted at her mere presence. Ophelia had already eaten and paid and was making her way toward her room; she seemingly had not felt her presence yet. She felt a tap on her back and turned around. Her breath caught in her throat. Any trace of doubt that had been left, what little there was, vanished in an instant. There was her Willow, with her fiery orange hair, her sharp features, and her beautiful golden honeysuckle eyes. She smiled at Willow and tilted her head in question, knowing that she still had no confirmation that Willow remembered her yet. “Excuse me, milady. I do believe you forgot this at your table. It looks like a very valuable cloak, so it would do you good to keep it on you, Willow said, smile intimate and knowing. Ophelia realized with a start that she had indeed forgotten her cloak at the table and that that Willow was currently returning it to her. There was no way she did not know what that meant—not with the way her eyes lit up with mirth. “May I have your name, milady?” Willow asked. “You may not have it, but it is Ophelia,” Ophelia replied, shyly smiling, before she reached into her pocket and pulled out the key. “I do believe this is yours, fair maiden, for I was gifted it by the fox that lives near your house,” she said. Willow laughed and grasped the key, lingering on Ophelia’s hand as she took it. She looked at Ophelia like she always did, so full of love and joy and mirth that she was minutes from bursting with it. “That it is, milady. It seems I have found the one I was looking for
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