The street lights outside the alleyway flicked on when the darkness of night settled over the small town - Brackenridge people called it. The girl had slept through the entire day, trying to avoid the pangs of hunger, but now her stomach grumbled loudly enough to force her out of her bed inside an overturned dumpster. She had found a formidable spot to call home a few months ago, perfectly placed between a bakery and a bank. She used a few torn and stained pillows for a bed. The bakery usually disposed of their stale pastries and bread in the dumpster next to hers, but they have been closed for the past two days because of a peculiar festival that worshiped some immortal beings. Thankfully, she was able to find a shallow stream not too far from her alley, one that ran the entire length of the town, so she was able to quench her thirst when food was scarce. Most days, she had to fight the other orphans for scraps of food. She didn't mind; she enjoyed the fights. After leaving an older boy bloody and bruised, the others didn't dare to encroach on her territory again. She was different from the others; her ears were long and pointed, her features astoundingly beautiful even at the age of 15. She couldn't quite remember when she was born or even the faces of her parents, but the humans that dared to approach her deemed her to be around that age. The girl quickly became aware of how different she was, so she always wore a cloak to hide her ears or tied her hair in a way that concealed them. The girl had no name, but the other orphans called her "The Red Bandit", a name she didn't quite mind even though it was their way of teasing her for her fiery red hair and green eyes that seemed to glow in the dark.

The girl slowly made her way to the edge of the alleyway, her stomach roiling and thrashing inside her. She was starving. Thankfully, the streets were teeming with life, more marks than usual as everyone was enjoying the festivities. She has stolen countless times before, so tonight would be no different.

She pulled her cloak over her head, low enough that she could see the rim of the hood, and stepped into the dim street light. She eyed the passing adults to spot any easy marks, but they all had a firm grip on their handbags and pockets. A small boy across the road caught her attention. He was an orphan with useless legs, begging for scraps as people passed by. The others called him "The Cripple"; but his real name was Don Brooks. They teased him often and even stole from him while he was sleeping. The girl has tried to act hurt for sympathy or coins, but she didn't know what real pain felt like, so it never looked convincing. She had only spoken to him once before, inquiring about what had happened to his legs, trying to understand the sensation of pain as thoroughly as possible. He told her that he stole from a rich man one night, scaled the side of a building trying to escape, and then slipped and fell, shattering both his legs. He told her how it felt, how he screamed and screamed, but no one cared, no one stopped to help him, and one thought came to her mind. Why would they? In this world, it was every man for himself. Sadly, the story did nothing for the girl; she learned nothing except that the boy was fragile.

The girl turned away, ignored him again, and went back to watching the adults. As a woman walked with her baby in a stroller, laughing with a man beside her, they came to a stop at a small market with wood carvings. That's when the girl spotted it. The baby was holding what looked like a corn dog, barely eaten, and the girl's stomach roiled again. She shoved the palm of her hand into her gut to silence it as she began to move. Carefully keeping to the shadows along the walls of the building. The street lamps shone down onto the gravel like cones of sunlight, attempting to keep the darkness at bay. However, the darkness was where the girl thrived.

Not them. Her own voice in her mind caused her to stop. She has heard that voice many times in her life, like a warning sign. She didn't know what it was or what prompted it, but it annoyed her. Some nights, the voice was relentless, and other nights, it was as quiet as the void, but she was too hungry to listen this time. She began to move again until she was directly behind the woman, just inches away from the stroller.

NOT THEM. This time, the voice shouted, and she took a few steps back, brushing her back against the cool stone of the building wall when another orphan came speeding by, grabbing the corndog as he went. Before the boy could swerve into the shadow, he was caught by the man who was with the woman.

"Piece of shit!" The man shouted as he threw the boy to the floor before landing a solid kick in the boy's stomach. That's when the girl noticed the blond hair and the sun-kissed skin. That was "The Joker," known by others as Justin Walker. He worked with a few other orphans as a group, like a band of troublemakers. They normally performed acts to attract attention, such as pretending to be injured or pretending to be caught so that others could steal from the onlookers. However, tonight, he was alone. The girl surveyed the shadows, searching for his group. She spotted them by The Cripple, watching with wicked grins as their friend was being beaten. He must have done something to anger them, and then one of them spotted her. He was taller than the rest, older as well, with curly black hair and a scar on his jaw. He was known as "The Leader" or Mat Linnet. The girl flashed him her teeth, the fangs she bore as a weapon. The Leader averted his gaze, as she was the reason for that scar—a reminder that she was not one to mess with. This time the girl smiled. Good. He should fear her.

Down the street. The voice urged, her voice, and the girl scrunched her nose. She hated that voice, but it saved her tonight, as it has so many times before. The voice had warned her about certain humans with malicious intentions, when they approached her. She ignored the warning once before and was beaten for not going with the man. He was fat and had a smile that made her skin crawl. She remembered tasting blood that day, but it didn't hurt; she barely felt any pain.

By the floral market. The voice urged her once more, and her legs began to move on their own. She sidestepped the adults who walked too close to her until she spotted the floral market. It had all kinds of flower bouquets displayed in various-sized clay pots. Some were painted vibrant colors, while others were the dull grey or red of the clay used to shape them. A tall man stood in front of the shopkeeper; he was different from the others. He wore an elegant black button-up shirt with long, dark grey chino pants and black loafers. The girl could see the man's muscles beneath the tight fit of his shirt. One of his hands was in his pocket, while the other hand held onto three corndogs. Her stomach growled this time, causing her to feel slightly faint, and her eyes shot to the man's face as she used the wall for support. He was stunning, more so than most men in the town, but she had never seen him before, nor those piercing blue eyes and shoulder-length brown hair that seemed to made of a deep mud color. A foreigner. The perfect mark. The girl slipped in behind a group of people chatting close by when the man passed her. She quickly fell into the shadows again as she trailed him. The smell of the corndogs drifted between them, and her mouth salivated at the sweet, meaty scent. Before long, the man suddenly turned down an alleyway, but the girl continued to follow, increasing her speed enough to now be a few paces behind him. She was quiet and light on her feet. Years of experience. She noticed the leather wallet sticking out of the pocket on his right side and moved even closer, mere inches behind him now. However, as her small fingers gripped the leather, a hand caught her wrist. The grip was firm and strong, but it didn't hurt, nor did the man twist her wrist as most would. When had he turned around? When had he heard her?

"Well, this is something I didn't expect." The man's voice was as soft as honey, and his blue eyes took her in. Her small frame, long delicate fingers, pointed nose, and bright green eyes. The girl was tall for a 15-year-old; she has always been taller than most orphans. The girl yanked at the man's grip, but he didn't move. "It's quite rude to steal from another." The man pondered as he placed the corndogs on the ground in the alley.

"Let go of me." The girl hissed, baring her pointed fangs in anger. Now her intuition was quiet, and her anger flared even more. Why did it only ever work when it wanted to?

"What is a small thing like you doing skulking around in dark alleys?" The man ignored her, and she thrashed against his hold again. "How about we remove this." The man added as he pulled the hood from her head, revealing the thick red locks that cascaded down her back, showcasing her pointed ears. For a second, the man's eyes widened, and something like amusement danced within them. "This keeps getting more and more interesting."

"I said let go!" The girl raged again, and this time she sunk her teeth into his hand, causing the man to hiss through his teeth, but he didn't let go. She tasted the copper of his blood, but it was sweeter than others. He wasn't the first adult she had bitten, but their blood tasted foul, like rusted metal, whereas his was sweet and had a hint of dirt.

"My, my. The little beast has fangs." The man chuckled before letting go of her hand, but she sank her teeth deeper, her nose scrunched in anger. "Don't worry, little beast. I won't harm you. Would you mind letting me go?" The girl's eyes met the pale blue, and her intuition sprang alive again, compelling her to let go as his grip dropped from her wrist. She took a step back, ready to run, but her legs wouldn't move. She watched as the small puncture wounds on his hand began to heal. Faster than she had seen before, faster than her own wounds. She used to get scrapes and cuts often when she was still learning to survive, but it took minutes, sometimes hours, to fully heal, unlike the other orphans. "It's rather strange to see one of our kind amongst the mortals. Mind telling me where your parents are?" The girl's brow furrowed. Mortals? After a few seconds of silence, the man sighed, " I see. You're an orphan?" Again, the girl said nothing, and the man brushed his hands through his hair, revealing a matching set of pointed ears. Was he like her? The girl stared at him and noticed the power wafting from him, the danger in the way he stood, more animalistic than anything else. Then the man cocked his head, causing her to retreat another step. "Don't be afraid, little beast." He cooed, but she wasn't. What she felt wasn't fear; it was something different, something she couldn't quite place. He felt familiar and safe. Two things she has never known in her life, and she has never met this man. Why would she feel this way?

Safe. Her voice echoed in her mind and she stomped on it. There was no such thing. He was just another predator of the night, nothing more.

"Here." The man lowered himself into a crouch as he extended a corndog towards her, and she didn't waste a heartbeat before snatching it from him, hugging the treat to her chest. The man gave her a crooked smile before straightening up again. "Our kind doesn't belong here." The man started, and his blue eyes focused on her ears again. "I'll be here when the moon is at its peak, waiting. If you wish for a better life and a home, you will meet me here." With that, the man grabbed the remaining corndogs and headed towards the illuminated road. Meet him? The girl needed no one.

Go with him. The voice urged again, but this time she shook her head, forcing the idea from her mind. No. He was a stranger, one that oozed danger and mystery. The girl watched as the man rounded the corner. She waited a long while after, pinned to where she stood, still clutching the corndog. Who was he? What was he? What does our kind mean? She had so many questions, but her stomach twisted again, and all the questions subsided to her hunger. She quickly made her way back to her own alley before savoring the sweet treat.

                       ╭──╯ . . . . . . . . . . ╰──╮

The girl shifted underneath the lid of the dumpster, her eyes peering at the sky where the moon sat idly at its peak. Why did she even check? She didn't need to see the man again; he was probably lying anyway.

Go with him. The voice whispered, and she scrunched her nose again. No. But she got up anyway. She didn't know why she was doing this, but she found herself in that alley again. It was quiet, void of any life other than the rats scurrying along the shadows. She knew he wouldn't be here, but why did she feel so disappointed? He wasn't the first to lie to her.

"I was about to leave." A familiar voice above her drew her attention. The man was sitting high up on the fire escape, with one leg dangling through the railing. "I'm glad to see you came." He mused before vaulting over the metal barrier. The girl closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of breaking bones. The fire escape was too high for anyone to jump down without getting hurt, but the sound never came. She opened her eyes slowly, expecting the man to be dead, but he gave her a kind smile, void of any injury. How did he do that? She barely heard him land. "Shall we?" The man gestured towards the street, and she took a step aside, allowing him to lead the way. She kept a casual distance behind the man, her eyes fixed on his back, ready to flee if he made any sudden movements. They walked in silence until they entered a line of trees just outside of town, leaving behind the chatter and laughter of those still enjoying the festival. "You may call me Jasper. Do you have a name, little beast?" The girl didn't answer because she didn't have one. "Very well, how do you feel about Sylvia?" She stopped for a second, her mind racing, and the man turned to her. "Everyone deserves a name, little beast." The girl met his gaze before moving again. Sylvia. She liked it.

"Sylvia." The girl whispered, and the man smiled. A smile she had never seen before, but it made her want to smile too.