And even though part of me wants to hate her: for her version of the truth; her mentions of her vacation to the Greek islands with her parents; her tidy adolescence spent winning scholarships, playing harp like a freaking angel; and becoming best friends with an effervescent dynamo who dresses exclusively in latex on weekends … I can’t help but love having Saxim next to me, slowly, carefully drawing circles in the dust with her foot.

It isn’t until later, when we’ve drained and refilled our cups of tea at least half a dozen times, that I ask her if she’ll read it with me. White Fox.

“Without Manon?” she asks.

“You’re my real sister, Saxim,” I say. “You know that.” And even though her mouth wrinkles, I mean it, I do.

PART ONE

CAPTOR (V.O.)

This is the story of a woman with a secret.

EXT. DELIRIUM FOREST—NIGHT

Wet leaves flashing past, branches whipping at the face and bare arms of someone running. Someone whose face is unseen. BREATHING and FOOTSTEPS.

WHITE FOX (V.O.)

In the beginning, she ran.

There’s a SHADOW in the dark, approaching. Many SMALL SHADOWS, multiplying and turning the forest blacker than night. The breathing quickens, the footsteps accelerate.

WHITE FOX (V.O.)

But she didn’t run fast enough.

SHADOW passes over and fills screen.

EXT. STREET—NIGHT

Bombed-out Limatra, late 1945. Streets filled with rubble. An air of misery. But the small red-light street remains desperately alive. Painted signs flash luridly, and drunks stumble past, singing to themselves. There’s a torn poster among the rubble advertising a performance by a famous dancer named White Fox.

Bicycle bells and the sound of distant engines intermingle with shouts of manic mirth and fear. A man is ejected from a bar for unruliness. A glimpse of a scantily clad woman in the window above, before the blinds are shut.

INT. GENTLEMAN’S CLUB / CELL—NIGHT

A dark cell, with a SINGLE, PENETRATING SPOTLIGHT.

WHITE FOX, with tear-streaked cheeks in a stained dress. Elegant, despite the circumstances.

Her hair, once pinned, is falling: It would be pure white, but it is stained dark with charcoal or some other powdery substance.

WHITE FOX

(speaking into the dark)

Let. Me. Go.

Unseen CAPTOR, androgynous yet cheeky voice, clicks on the LOUDSPEAKER, visible above White Fox.

CAPTOR (O.C.)

No.

White Fox screams.

CAPTOR (O.C.)

The room is soundproofed, dear. It’s just you and me. It’s always just you and me.

White Fox stops, shell-shocked.

WHITE FOX

(speaking into the dark)

Let. Me. Go!

Unseen Captor sighs.

CAPTOR (O.C.)

This is growing tiresome, my dear White Fox. It’s auction time, soon. Time to turn on your famous charm. You won’t like the men who want you when you’re despondent and hopeless.

WHITE FOX