Dark Growls

"You know, it's not wise for royalty to drink among the peasants." Queries the barman with a rough voice, cleaning a glass with an overused rag. He wears small eyes and a rough moustache, but also has a big heart.

"You, me and my tequila know that I'm far from royalty, Gerry." I utter, finalising my shot and sliding it towards his end of the bench. Relaxing slightly, my head leans on my hand, tangling with my brown hair.

The neon lights flashed across the bar, overlapped with the smeared remains of the last drunken fight. Dripping with a midnight atmosphere, the only people who stayed talked in hush whispers and carried a weapon.

I wasn't a badass who valued the essence of a dark corner, perhaps like how I'm portrayed to be. Always there, but never quite reached. I like to think myself as the blazing light that exposes those creeping in shadows. Consequently, I hate this hideout, but it's not like I have a choice. Nothing can excuse me from my position to the throne, the fame that comes with it.

"Miss Orabelle, you mustn't think like that! Aye, Oliver would be a fine king, but I've no doubt you'd serve us well too!" Gerry comments, eagerly picking up the glass and polishing it aswell. You can always tell when someone is overworked, it's the deteriorating face, the never-ending list of to-dos, the unrelaxed posture.

Originally, I was destined to merge away from the title alongside my parents. However, with both dead and the queen only bearing a single child, it appeared my presence was worthwhile. Not for the throne, of course not, that's destined to her son. No, Queen Carla Caliviano found me very useful in... other ways. The one who cleans the blood, who claws their throats, who is sent but never promised to return. Though, as much as I'd like to think Aunty loves me, sometimes it feels her heart is colder than her iron seat.

"You flatter me, but when the Queen passes the throne, I'll be running as far from this city as possible. " I say, noticing my watch ding slightly, it's Oliver.

Gerry smiles, refilling a drink for another customer. "You'll run me outta business!"

Thanking Gerry, I get up from my stool and strut onto the distorted streets. Tapping the little watch, Oliver's call connects into my earpiece. "You woke me up!" I say, acting out a very convincing yawn.

"Orabelle, I swear if mother finds out you left again, she'll have your head." He says, sounding more worried than angry. Of course, Prince Oliver Caliviano is an immensely protective cousin, mainly due to my inability to sufficiently be safe. "And if you're ever hurt, she'll have mine."

"I'm not your responsibility, dear prince, I shall return to the castle before dawn." I say, slipping through street allies and entertaining myself with various rooftops. Although most inhabitants of this city despise midnight roof runners, they also know better to mind their own business. Plus, if you can jump far enough, why not?

"You're going to have to be faster than that, she wishes to see you now." Oliver states, the news coming mid-jump. The realisation allows a gasp, my foot slip and entire body slam into the ground. A small groan follows, sensing the temporary pain of a twisted ankle and throbbing shoulder.

I twist my body to face the sky, lathered in dirt and the embrace of rooftop cigarette butts. With a sigh of disappointment, I answer Oliver. "The queen wishes to see me at four in the morning? The hell does she want?"

"You've got 20 minutes, don't be late."

_______________________________________

"How many minutes do I have?" I say, gently interrupting her babbling. Alice can be quiet, but not in the same way I can be. She's soft, I adore every part of our mother I see in her adorableness. Even when I'm emotional and harsh, I try to not spring it all on her, I guess.

The fragile woman holds her phone close to her chest, as if not wanting to take up much space. Daylight grasps the beginning of dawn in the form of shadows across sharp cheekbones, marking a glow upon her skin. Alice stands next to me, taking a second to join my viewing of the daisy coloured sunrise.

My sister is different compared to myself, more of the 'perfect' child of us two. Her short, blonde, curly hair bounces with every step she takes. A smile of crisp white pearls and stunningly large eyes. Her pale skin and lack of body-shape were the only physical hints towards her hidden difficulties.

"About 9 minutes," Alice whispers, pulling a curly strand behind her ear, whilst checking her watch most attentively. She nudges me softly, realising my lack of bubbly nature. "Orabelle, you're not supposed to leave the palace, you know that."

Turning my gaze towards the glass wall, I absorb moments of peaceful city street contemplating. Unsurprisingly, the four-way intersection is silent in the absence of both vehicles and people finding their way through this 'magnificent'metropolis. Although, it's more the people I become so fascinated by.

"Does Aunty know?" I question.

"No." Alice says.

"Good, then let's keep it that way." I snap, somewhat annoyed she would question my capabilities.

This building, my only home, looms over the city like a giant hawk. The monarchy that makes no mistakes, overlapping with unlimited power and knowledge. The castle of Marx, layers of tinted glass and timeless marble, is the undoubtedly the soul location of ruling.

I have devoted my life to this domain, it is my livelihood. I don't see it as a particularly bad thing, heck, most times I enjoy it. However, as most would understand, not possessing any freedom from my responsibility makes one feel caged.

Suddenly, my focus on the glass changes as I daze off into thoughts, I see my own reflection. Thick brown curls with cobalt eyes stare back at me, a birthmark of a singular smudged spot along my jawline. Sometimes I love how I look, other days it's the most hideous face dawned upon.

"It's been two weeks, do you think she'll want to test me again?" I whine, cringing at the idea of the pain, every sense tugged at until you go crazy.

Alice sighs softly, I can smell her pity like a wet dog. "I don't know Ora, you both cut a deal, your freedom relies on working for her. True, it's getting rather old, but her majesty isn't as young anymore, then Oliver will become king."

"I know, I know, he wouldn't subject me to... torture." I remark.

She tugs at my arm gently, although it half felt like she didn't want me to move at all. "Come, we must do a log before meeting her majesty."

I swiftly turn from the wall, edging into my dark seat across from Alice. She takes out a small recorder, joined with a crumpled up note of paper. Placing both on the table, she inches closer and uses a delicate finger to press record.

"This is Alice Caliviano, recording for day 1092. The subject is almost a fully adapted adult, emotional changes are anticipated, bodily changes are unlikely. According to former logs, this transition is rather harmless. For the record, once again, please state your name and summarise your species."

Despite no physical alteration, the room suddenly seems desperately dark. The Queen listens to every single tape, along with other scientists, thinking that one day a pattern will emerge. Perhaps they already see one, maybe I'm spiralling into a cold-blooded crossbred of insanity, I don't really care anymore.

Looking at the tape recorder, I watch the faded note which reminds where my voice should aim for. "My name is Orabelle Caliviano and I dislike making these tapes." I say, repeating the same protestant tone from every interview. "My parents marked my embryo to encounter simular traits to a Snow Leopard, apart of their artic animals. In doing so, I developed many skills that are triggered by storms or excessive electric forces. Only few know of my existence, they call us Agatha."

"Orabelle, there are multiple questions in relation to your transition," Alice smiles slightly, flashing a hint of covered excitement. "Have there been any noticeable changes regarding your physical body?"

"I do not believe so, I've had my usual aches and pains with work. I've already talked in a previous tape about increased spots, so I won't go over it again." I reply.

"Do you expect any form of change over your alteration from child to adult? Perhaps you'll be conscious next activation?" Alice queries.

"I'm not quite sure if I'd like that, Alice." I settle, contemplating how I'd rather be passed out than endure the pain that comes with biological alterations. "I haven't had any reason to believe things will change."

Alice also takes a brief moment to process, although if I pried her mind open it's certainly full of analytical thoughts. "That sounds understandable, have there been any noticeable mental changes lately? What are your thoughts regarding your kind? Any mood swings?"

I scrunch my face up slightly when my mind gives blank answers, although I have no surprise in being incapable of responding with something new. "Not really, the usual," I say, twirling out of thought as I sink deeper and deeper into the question. "I've felt more agitated lately, sometimes more defensive and competitive. That's part of my nature though, everyone knows that."

Alice smiles at the comment, I reply with an eye-roll of defiance. "Well then, that's enough for today, signing off on the Agatha interview." She says, checking her watch eagerly once again, before stopping the recording. She then takes out a tiny notebook from her laboratory coat, the clicking of its accompanying pen signals her writing.

I feel a wave of relief from having to endure more examination questions regarding my species, prying into my life. Being an Agatha is my secret, one that I treasure deeply. Although I'm not entirely afraid of showing myself as this species, I'm not allowed to.

And that's all because of her majesty, Queen Carla Caliviano.

"Alice, please note she's consuming excessive alcohol." A voice boomed into the room, though it's message made me frown. Oliver, his modelling career is enticingly obvious as he leans on the doorframe. Despite just waking up, his curly blonde strands are seemingly in perfect place, standing out well against a heavenly tan.

I sometimes theorise that Carla never wanted other children when Oliver was born. He's adored as 'the perfect son,' nonetheless a prince, so why would she want more?

"Already done, though I'm debating whether it's for fun or a coping mechanism for pain." Alice says, glaring into my soul whilst tapping her pen eagerly against her golden locks.

"I can cope with the pain." I say bitterly, getting up to greet my cousin. My chair accidently screeches against the tile floors, but I attempt to ignore the eerie sound.

Oliver is a sweet guy, no doubt he'll make a better king than what Carla ever was. Sometimes, I don't quite know how someone so generous could be produced from another so selfish. The universe must have balance, I suppose.

Then I turn to Alice, sensing the need to leave. "Are we late yet?"

Alice, once again, is haste to check her watch. "In a quick minute we will be!" she gasps, haste to get herself together and ushering towards the elevator.

I smile, the opposite reaction to Alice's realisation, as being slightly late is always a treasure. Unknown to Alice though, I still had to prep to appear professional. "So, remind me why you're coming to this meeting?" I say to Oliver, walking over to my belt and strapping it around my waist. Going as slowly as possible, I place my last clips and recheck my gun.

"I'm the crowned prince of Marx, as if my dear mother wouldn't want me invited." Oliver jokes, purposely nudging me a little faster towards the elevator.

A light ding follows as the machinery opens its doors, the steady elevator prepared to swallow me whole. My heels click against the metal surface as we slide into the small capsule, the fancy lighting a show of social status here.

Oliver wants to come to a meeting with his mother at 4am? I'm sure.

"I don't need protecting." I say, being blunt.

"I think Carla needs protecting more than anything." Alice says, queuing the doors to close, the metal locking with a heavy clunk. I guess she's right about that.

"Let's just see what the Queen wants, surely it's just another mission for the war." Oliver replies, encouraging his habit of leaning on things as the glass shuttle shoots upwards.

"Let's just hope that's over before you're king, for all our sakes." I say, huffing. 'The war' has been going on for years now, beginning before Carla was even queen. From the missions I've done, it's with a group outside the city whom hates the royal family. They can't take hold of the city, so they pillage and plunder the outside towns, the agriculture Marx needs.

It's up to the spies, like me, to take them down. We work to keep them out, from making the war a big deal, to find their motives, to kill their leaders. They don't scare me though, they don't even know who, or what I am.

Seeing the numbers on the elevator raise, it's more of a countdown.

Continue to breathe, Orabelle.

With a few silent seconds, an elevator ding and open silver doors, we step into the territory of my most feared predator.