Kitsune: A fox spirit that takes on a human form when they are mature enough to do so. Japanese folklore depicted them as intelligent beings, possessing abilities that increase with their age and wisdom.

Records show that in early times, foxes and humans maintained close contact; this companionship gave rise to legends about the creatures. However, the "trickster" nature of these fae led to a nationwide hunt for their kind. Now the only recorded kitsune species alive lives in the Night Court.

- Pg 2433 of the Royal Archives. On Japanese Folklore.

***

- Vesna -

I said to Raziel's retreating back. "Did you get another one down there?" He stopped abruptly and swinged back to look at me. His eyes are a little wide and disorientated. With a start I realised he's shaken.

"Jesus Vesna. Do you keep track of all the tattoos I engrave on my body? Does it appease you if I do a strip show?"

"Hey I was just asking. Someone called your work phone while you were taking your shift. He claimed you and him had unfinished business. When I told him you weren't here he said you'll always be a tool and he would remember the brand he placed on you." I bit my bottom lip. Did I say something I wasn't supposed to? I was just worried for him that's all.

Raziel sighed in the darkness. It's late past sleeping hours and he just returned from his bartending shift. He smelled like liquor, perfume and smoke. Sexy as hell but too bad he isn't interested in that. He's more into guys.

In the shadows, his dark skin almost blends in making it difficult to see him except for his amethyst eyes. The same goes for me, but my eyes are green and I wonder how they must look like in the dark.

Raziel sighed as he closed the bedroom door behind him. "Were you packing up?"

"Obviously." I said as I plopped down on his bed. My clothes are packed into bags strewn messily on his comforter. "I was just finishing up." I was never a neat and tidy person, and I doubt I will ever be one. Raziel nodded in the dark as he sat down on his bedroom floor. Hugging his knees to his chest, he murmured. "He is a tattoo artist at the outskirts. Quite big in his field of work and when I heard of him I thought... maybe he's the one. Maybe he knows something about celtic knotwork or ancient tattoos."

I kept quiet as I listened to Raziel. When he's in this state, it's better to listen quietly because he rarely shares anything about his private life. Raziel has the hardest time adjusting to the squad because he was abandoned in the streets. Starving and abused by his employers who are illegal drug traffickers, his life has been thrown into a hell hole of slaves and prostitutes since he was barely five.

This boy has many many scars covering him. Not physical ugly welts, but those invisible and deadly ones. The ones that leave marks on his soul and inflict the most pain if left to rot and fester silently.

"I went up to his shop one day and asked him if he knew about fae tattoos. He grinned and told me to sit down. At first he told me about his work and the types of unusual customers he received. One day a fae came knocking on his door and asked for a tattoo to be done. He told me how he had to mix powdered iron into the ink and how once his work is completed, the tattoo will shift in his skin. So I asked for one to be done. Near my hip just below the band of my jeans so it would remain hidden."

I nodded as I listened. Raziel always had a strange obsession with tattoos, especially celtic knotworks and ancient fae ones. Almost every month, he would have a new one done on his body. To me, it felt as if it represented his scars and I see it as his way of coping with all the terrible events that happened to him. Recently, he has been improving and the number of times he went for a tattoo has dropped significantly. He would sometimes go without one for two to three months, with ten months being the longest.

I would rather it be tattoos than cigarettes.

"And then? Did something happen between the both of you?" I prompted when he stayed silent with his head in between his knees. If I had an older brother, I would want Raziel to be mine. He looks so broken and I wish I could be someone of help to him, even if it's just a little.

He sighed quietly. "You know me... Vesna. I tend to get attached too easily. So it was expected that when I knew he swings both ways, I started to get interested. We slept in his shop for a few nights, while he worked on his tattoo for me. Like how he did it for his previous client, he mixed powdered iron into the ink and used a special tattoo gun meant for people like us. He gave me the same design as that guy and called it his "brand" on me."

"I... I didn't know anything then. I thought he designed it himself. Until... until one day, I saw him hooking up with another customer. In a fit of my anger, I shouted at him and said that our contract was over. And you know what he said?" He took a shuddering breath as he shut his eyes.

I placed my hand on his tall back gently, rubbing soothing circles. He trembled as he struggled to keep his pain in check. "He... c-called me a fucking whore. He said I was nothing but a means to his career. A tool for him to brandish his accomplishments. He said... he said that when customers hear of him having... demi-fae lovers, his rep would boost tremendously. That motherfucking son of a bitch!" He shuddered as he took gasping sobs.

"Shit Raziel. That's some fucking messed up shit." I said because I can't offer anything else. I am not that person close in his heart, but at least I can offer him comfort as a fellow friend. As his only one and trusted friend. Maybe one day. One day, maybe he'll be able to let me in and accept me as someone close to a sister. That prick. Well-known tattoo artist my ass! See how his rep will boost when his business burns down in embers.

A spoon clattered somewhere outside in the living room, snapping us out of our little cozy heart to heart. I glanced at Raziel, who is now staring at me with shock in his eyes. I made a move to get up, but he stopped me. "Forget it. It doesn't matter anyway. Let the whole fucking world know that I'm a whore."

***

- Damien -

Curiosity burns in the back of my mind as I recalled all the members recruited under my father's entourage. However, nothing comes to my mind. Who is this member called Bella? Why have I not heard of her or seen her name under the registry member list? Is she using an alias?

As much as I am curious, my professionalism kicks in. Even though she was assigned to S.P.A.D. based on her promotion, I intend to test Bella's skills before I deem her to be a part of us. That's what the traditional way means. To pass a certain test set by the squad leader and it has been the in-thing since when the HQ just started. But nowadays, who uses such an outdated method?

I turned left down the corridor, passing the rows of office rooms before reaching the door I wanted to find and knocked twice. Twisting open the handle to the room of the History Professor's office, I noted the neatly polished name that hangs there - "BELLA". Neat, professional, short and sweet. The way I like things to be. With a polite smile gracing my face, I strode into the office, hoping that my expression does not betray my intent.

The "History Professor" was reading some bulky textbook on her desk, it seems her role-playing requires her to familiarise herself with the University's syllabus before she can teach any of her classes. A twinge of amusement and something like sympathy flits across my emotions before I could shut it out.

"Hello Bella, I'm Damien Ytger. The assigned leader of your new squad. You have been posted to the Special Operations due to your outstanding contributions to the Paranormal Department, which I hereby congratulate you and express heartfelt gratitude for your services to our country. However, I feel that before I can accept you as a member of my squad, you will have to do it the traditional way..." The words I made myself memorize and prepare beforehand died in my mouth as Bella looked up from whatever she was reading.

"Have to what?" She said raising her perfect brows at me, confusion marring her doll-like eyes.

"Izzie?" I blurted before I realized my mistake. "Is that you?" Disbelief and wonder threatens to overwhelm me, as I stare right into the face I recognize from my bitter-sweet memories. This girl resembles her, a crown of ebony black curls, perfect porcelain skin and down to her azure blue eyes. She looks the same as I remembered her to be. Time is playing a cruel joke on me. The years we spent apart has only made maturity enhance her heart-breaking beauty. A sharp jab of pain slices my heart. How is this possible? Why in the world? How? Who?

Bella went stiff at the name, her polite charm vanishing instantly. Realizing what I have done, I cursed myself. "I apologize, I misplaced you for someone I knew." Shit, I screwed up big time.