Twisted Turmoil

The night, in my opinion, will forever be the best time to be awake. For as long as I could remember, my small family moving from town to town, one of the few constants I looked forward to were the stars shining brightly and the moon's pale glow. I had loved it so much, when I was 16 I had the moon phases tattooed down my spine and my favorite constellation, the little dipper on my ankle. Everyone always looked for the big dipper, the little one went unnoticed. My absolute favorite nights though, were nights like this. When the moon would disappear and allow the stars to take the spotlight. Nights like this, I stay awake till sunrise leaning against the back of cold steel, gazing out at the millions of sparkling lights.

The cold slowly ebbs in, and I shiver, pulling the small coarse gray blanket we'd been given, closer around me. I glance around the dark room, my eyes long since adjusted to the lack of lighting.

Collars, leashes, food bowls; everything you'd expect to find in an average pet shop, filled the shelves close to the entrance of the store. It was the items sold towards the back of the store, behind the cages, that made me cringe. Items that would have had my ancestors go to war before signing the treaty hundreds of years ago. I close my eyes in disgust, remembering stocking the whips, paddles, and colorful ropes. The small scraps of lace underwear in the back made me feel ill and fueled my silent hatred for our shop keeper. All the items sold here were meant for the new fan favorite, humans. We were considered exotic, a fad.

Centuries ago, the supernatural decided to come out of hiding. It sparked a war, all sides suffering until a treaty was formed. All species signed it. While most of the world chose to intermingle and live in coexistence, two countries remained the outliers. North America split into territories. The werewolves took most of the mid- western side, save for the coast that had been more city dominated. The vampires claimed the coastal sides that were city dominated. A few decades after the treaty, the boundary lines blurred but still existed. Witches and humans intermixed; some preferred the solitude the forests provided while others liked the constant movement of the cities. No one was restricted to specific sides. There were stories of others, the fae and merfolk. They had long since died out during the war. Humans now threatened to follow in their footsteps. Which left Canada. No man's land.

Only a few years into the treaty, the vampires had grown greedy on their side of their borders. They left limited freedom to humans, making most slaves. Rare blood types began to dwindle and breeder programs were established, forcing any desirable human to have at least two children. Pets formed out of this program as the demand for them grew. Shortly after the vampires started the trend, it spread across the other borders. Pets never survive long, at most maybe a year. There had been an uprising about this. A group of humans who had fought back against the regulations set on them. The vampires snuffed them out before I was born and any of the stragglers stayed on the run and were named rogues. I heard a rumor that some of the survivors made a base in Canada and are constantly crossing borders to try and free humans and smuggle them to freedom. My parents had played a part in helping people cross the border, which automatically grouped me in as a rogue.

Rogues were unheard of and even more rare as a pet. We were considered untrainable and stubborn which made me thankful for getting to grow outside of the city walls. Most were put to death on sight. I'd been caught almost three years ago and sold at an auction. My unusual hair and unknown blood type drew the attention of the owner of this tiny shop and had kept me alive.

Another beautiful night, little Dipper.

I smile at the warm and soothing voice. Should I be concerned that I was hearing a voice and had been for the past two years? Probably. Should I be even more concerned that the voice was also an attractive, deep, and distinctly male voice? Definitely. Maybe I had finally gone off the deep end, but the voice had become a companion of sorts. Proof there was still a part of me that refused to be tamed and that I wasn't just the quiet girl that everyone thinks to have been mastered. The more logical part of me argues that I have snapped. That my mind hadn't been able to handle the trauma and had found a way to process and heal itself. But I look forward to the witty banter every night and stopped questioning what this meant for the state of my mental health. For now, I take solace in my insanity.

It is. One of my favorites as you well know. I try to relax my cramped muscles from the tight space and continue staring out the barrier to freedom.

Tell me about a place away from here. A place that's under the stars. And my imagination did, taking me far away from the little pet shop. Weaving a tale of a land with green rolling fields in the summer and endless constellations. A little cabin in the woods underneath a blanket of stars surrounded by sparkling snow and the sharp scent of pine in the winter. Soft snores and quiet shifts from the other girls bring me back from the dream land. I take comfort from their presence even though I refused to get to know most. I brought my gaze back to the endless sight in front of me, wishing I could follow those stars into the place described to me. My heart yearning to go with it into the night.