Dietmar

The house greeted her with deathly silence and dust. In the nursery, her hand trembled, and an ancient box shattered on the floor. From the shards, purple smoke emerged, and from the smoke, He emerged—a nine-tailed fox with radiant fur and eyes of liquid gold.

"Heiress?" the mental voice sounded venomous. "I've waited five hundred years, and all I've gotten is a dusty sack."

"Who are you?" she breathed out.

"Ditmar. Your family's familiar. My former mistress imprisoned me for eating a parrot. A touchy person."

He came closer, his breath burning her skin.

"Now I'm free. Almost. The curse binds me to my home. And to you. You will be my guide in this strange world."

"What if I refuse?"

All mockery disappeared, replaced by ancient cruelty.

"Then I'll get bored. And you won't like my games."

He extended a long-clawed hand. Five hundred years of hatred and forced alliance hung between them. The silence of the house was no longer empty.