“Dazzling Mrs. Fieldman. You look truly dazzling.”

“Thank you Lady Esmerelda,” a second haughty little girl voice answers. “How is Mr. Bunny these days? Teddy and I are worried.”

He stares up. Laying on his back it is all he can see. He doesn’t like the view. The Man stands, door slightly open, watching his, HIS, feathered and tiaraed girls. He watches, sharply angled and pointy at the door as one girl passes biscuits that look suspiciously like chocolate chip cookies to the other. The crumbs still taste the same.

Mr. Bunny flexes his stuffing, creeping on his pink fluffy back out the door and over The Man’s bare foot. He doesn't like The Man. He doesn't like the look in the Man's eyes when he looks at the girls. He decides to act.

“Oh it’s a terrible, terrible thing, Madam. Terrible indeed. The doctor says he’ll recover, it’s a bad cold. But the poor dear thing is stuck in bed for a fortnight at least!” His girls giggle.

His seam splits and tiny, hollow teeth emerge from the so-soft fur. They sink in, sliding through thick flesh, wrapping around a toe, until they meet. The Man howls, his hands flying up and out of his pants, his kick sending Mr. Bunny flying into the girls’ room, still holding that piece of skin, flesh and bone in his teeth. Mr. Bunny hits the window and flops on his side on his little girl’s bed. The piece of The Man sinks inside with the teeth, the seam closing, lost again, like some treasure, inside the mounds of stuffing and fur.

“Mr. Bunny!” She runs to him, rolling him over to check his injuries, despite the grand hat and pearls. In the hall The Man howls and bleeds onto the carpet. On the pink princess blanket Mr. Bunny lays smiling.