As Mireille’s first manager—and only longtime friend—I was privileged enough to read and collaborate on an early copy of White Fox, the script that shows just how dark Mireille’s mindset was before she disappeared. It is a richly woven tale of a performer who goes through many grotesque trials—very much inspired by Mireille’s life.

For years, Mireille’s husband—the late Hëró Hammick—instructed his team to threaten me with injunctions if I were to ever share any information about this early draft publicly. But I am coming forward with this information now because I can’t stay silent any longer. It’s been ten long years since Mireille disappeared, and my dear friend deserves justice.

In this draft, Mireille directly addresses her Noxim stalker. That’s right: A man who lived in the village closest to her country home had begun to harass her, and her husband refused to take the threat seriously. I remember, on several occasions, Mireille mentioning to me that, “Hëró wasn’t to be bothered with trivial matters.” I am sure readers will find this as chilling as I do.

Mireille told me little about this stalker—only that he lived in Noxim. But she wrote him into her script in the form of a lumberjack who captures the namesake character—White Fox—and keeps her all for himself, with haunting consequences.

It was clear to me, from those pages she shared, that this Noxim stalker—and her husband’s refusal to take it seriously—was one of the reasons she refused to sit still and accept her life as Hëró Hammick’s trophy wife, dusted over and forgotten in her Stökéwood “cabinet.”

He was one of the reasons she left us, shattering the Hammicks’ Viloki dream once and for all.

It’s true.

Hëró Hammick never did take me seriously. And that was the stupidest thing the God among men ever did.

We will meet soon, girls. And then you’ll know for yourselves what I did.

PART TWO

INT. GRAND OLD HOME — NIGHT

White Fox, bare-faced, clothed in a clean dress, and seated in a small room, clutching her knees to her chest. The voices chattering nearby—perhaps outside the window—continue, and it is making her nervous. But it is only a MAID, who appears with a tray bearing two cups of tea.

Client 2, the lonely man, accepts the cups of tea from the maid, who gives a sidelong glance at White Fox before disappearing.

Client 2 hands White Fox a cup of tea.

CLIENT 2

Where did you go next?

White Fox sips her tea.

WHITE FOX

I ran away to the moor, of course.

CLIENT 2

(bemused)

The moor?

WHITE FOX

That’s right. It was a lonely place, to be sure. But I liked it.

EXT. FOGGY MOORLANDS — NIGHT