"Miss Angelina,"

I roll over in bed, my sheets curling around my body, waking from a haze of restless thoughts. As I open my eyes, I'm greeted by the sight of a blonde, cheerful Florence, standing by the window where the morning sun filters in. The vibrant rays highlight her transformation; she appears a world apart from the shivering, distressed girl I had comforted the night before.

Her freckles are more pronounced this morning, dancing across her cheeks with a fresh intensity. Her face carries a soft blush, and there's a bright, almost mischievous glint in her eyes. I can't help but give her a look of bemusement, curious about the sudden change in her demeanour. She responds with a small, knowing smile and steps closer, carrying a tray laden with breakfast goodies.

It's a meticulously arranged assortment – a display that has Diana's touch all over it. From the perfectly buttered toast to the freshly squeezed orange juice, every item is placed with care. Florence places the tray on my bedside table, and I catch a whiff of warm croissants and freshly brewed coffee. I can't help but wonder what Diana had told her to bring up such a spread.

I was certain I had begged Diana days earlier to stop sending me food. She was already overworking herself, constantly cleaning up after Luke and me, cooking, processing goods, and managing the myriad of hormones that plague this household.

Yet, now, faced with Florence and the breakfast tray, all my words seemed to catch in my throat. I couldn't muster the effort to push them out. It was as if my voice had abandoned me, leaving me mute despite my desire to speak. The grimacing pain in my back from the awkward position I had slept in only added to my frustration.

I wished desperately for words to come forth, to express my concerns, to thank Florence, and to release the tension coiled within me. Instead, I remained silent, my body betraying me as I struggled to find a comfortable position. I reached behind my neck, trying to disentangle the hair that had gotten trapped beneath me during the night.

As my fingers worked through the knots, I took a deep breath, attempting to gather my thoughts. The scent of the warm breakfast wafted through the room, mingling with the fresh morning air. Despite my discomfort and unspoken words, a part of me was grateful for Diana's relentless care, even if it meant she was overburdening herself.

My sheets were soaked in sweat, suggesting I had been tangled in them for most of the night. It seemed I might have had a nightmare, or perhaps just a restless dream. Groggily, I scanned the room, trying to determine the time of day. Judging by the light, I guessed it was late morning—perhaps around eleven. A wave of bitterness washed over me for being disturbed so early.

"Florence, it's the middle of the morning. Did you have a reason to wake me so early?" I groaned, sitting up and leaning forward to rub my eyes. Grasping the duvet, I pulled it tighter around me, suddenly aware of the cold air circulating in my room. My eyes fell on the tray again, reminding me of my hunger. I hadn't eaten in perhaps a day, maybe two, having been too busy solving problems for others—like chasing a runaway pet through the forest in heels in the dead of night.

"Miss Angelina, it's six in the afternoon," Florence muttered, placing the tray at the foot of my bed. She moved to the large, stunning windows and pulled apart the white curtains, revealing a darkening, orange-and-blue sky. It was hauntingly beautiful, the light casting deceptive shadows that had made it appear much earlier. The first stars were beginning to dot the sky, glistening over the city.

I stared at the horizon, taken aback by how the shifting light had misled me. Despite the exhaustion and the surprising lateness of the hour, the beauty of the sky offered a small comfort. As I reached for a piece of toast, I silently resolved to better manage my time and responsibilities, to ensure that neither Diana nor Florence would have to go to such lengths for my sake again.

The gentle rain was tapping against the window glass, leaving streaks of moisture behind. I had always loved the rain; it had a clearing feeling to it. Every time it rained, it felt as though all my guilt and doubt were washed away with the downpour. Florence continued moving around the room, opening all four sets of curtains before heading towards the wardrobe.

Her hand trembled as it lingered over the wardrobe handle. I had often scolded her for doing things without being told, so her hesitation amused me more than anything. She turned back, and I gave her a small nod, having grabbed a slice of toast from the tray. I was raised not to speak with food in my mouth.

"I see. Well, thank you for waking me. I have much to do," I murmured after swallowing the toast, keeping my gaze on the sky as she moved back towards me. The rain continued its rhythmic tapping, and for a moment, I allowed myself to simply enjoy the serene sound and the cleansing feeling it brought. The room gradually filled with soft, natural light, and despite the day's late hour, a sense of renewal settled over me.

Florence had returned to my side before I could register the movement, picking up the tray in her hands, her eyes a pool of nerves. I imagined she felt as though she had made a mistake. In response, she quickly moved back up the bed and held her stance against the mattress. I reached out my hands to take the tray from her grasp, noticing her fingers shaking with eagerness. She hesitated, staring into my eyes with sudden fear.

"Are you going to keep your promise, Miss Angelina?" she asked with a smile, placing the tray in my hands before stepping back and straightening her knee-length skirt. It was a beautiful red colour, and she wore a white shirt that I could have sworn was mine. I overlooked this for the moment, taking in her red lips and curled hair. Though she looked beautiful and elegant, it wasn't the type of outfit I'd let her go hunting in. This day was bound to come sooner or later; nothing could remain perfect forever.

I'd hesitated with Florence, seeing her more as a child, almost like my own daughter. Introducing her to the darker side of my world seemed cruel.

"Do I seem like a person who would neglect their promises, my dear?" I asked. She gave me a look of odd satisfaction and moved around the bed to take a seat in the lounge chair to the left of my bed.

Florence had been living in my household for over a year. Her mother, a distant family friend, had passed away, and her father had left early in her life. At sixteen, she was passed around among family members and close friends until she was eventually placed in my care. By then, she was in her twenties and focused on her studies, but others deemed her too fragile to live independently. I had decided to give her the independence others had denied her while keeping her close enough to ensure she stayed out of danger.

The gentle rain continued its soothing rhythm against the windows, creating a peaceful backdrop to our morning. I looked at Florence, hoping she could sense the sincerity in my words and the depth of my care for her.

"I suppose not, Miss. But you've never seemed very happy with my requests," she said, her gaze fixed on me with a careful intensity. It was as if she weighed every word, fearing they might change my mind. Yet, there was determination in her eyes, a resolve that suggested she wouldn't back down. She seemed torn between her desire to fulfil this task and her instinct to please me. I wondered if this internal conflict would cause her trouble in the future.

I had spent the hour before falling asleep pondering whether I had made the right choice in promising to help her lose the last vestiges of her innocence. Involving her in my world would make my life less complicated, with fewer prying eyes on my work since she'd have her own tasks to focus on. But would this change her? Would she become less of the eager, loyal companion she had always been? Would my affection for her alter as her soul darkened?

Many fail to grasp the true repercussions of taking a life. While there are the expected gains, such as power—one of my personal favourites—there is also an unrelenting darkness that settles in. Your soul feels tainted, and the joy you once found in simple pleasures becomes repulsive. To cope, your genuine human emotions shut down, leaving you numb. The innate human instinct to protect others fades, as emotions, complex and multifaceted, can lead to mental fragmentation when killing becomes a pastime.

I glanced back at Florence, sitting straight-backed and tapping her heel against the wooden leg of the chair. I believed she could handle this; she had observed me and Cleo enough to understand the intricacies of our work. The only thing holding me back was the fear of her changing. I didn't want her to get hurt or inadvertently bring trouble to myself or those I loved. Despite my reservations, I could see she was more than ready. It was clear that this day was inevitable; nothing could remain unchanged forever. I just hoped that in guiding her into this shadowed world, I wouldn't lose the Florence I cherished.

"I just didn't feel the time was right, sweetheart, but now I've promised, and I always keep my promises," I say softly. I can see the relief wash over her face, her eyes lighting up with happiness. Yet, a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach urges me to reconsider, to retract my promise, to prevent this corruption.

"Then I shall leave you to yourself, Miss Angelina," she declares, rising from her seat. She drifts around the bed, pausing at the main door to my bedroom. "But I would like to tell you that you ought not to worry so much about me, I can tell you do, you are far too fearful about my situation Miss."

Despite her courage in making this statement, she doesn't wait for a response. In a heartbeat, she slips out the door. Her words linger in the air as I watch her leave, a mix of pride and concern swirling within me. Florence's determination is admirable, yet my fears for her safety and well-being remain. The rain outside continues its soothing rhythm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions within me. I can only hope that, in keeping my promise, I won't regret the path we've chosen.

After finishing the breakfast Diana had brought up, I decided not to bother dressing. I wandered downstairs to the lounge, unmade-up and sprawled across the seating, utterly carefree. Out of habit, I turned on the television and half-listened to the news reports while staring dazedly at the ceiling.

"In other news, Nathan Richardson, twenty-two years of age, has been missing for one month. His parents and girlfriend plead for any information regarding his whereabouts to be handed over to the police."

My head snapped towards the television. A picture of the boy I had killed just last night appeared on the screen. I had to admit I had forgotten his name; I usually did, to avoid any emotional attachment. I preferred using generic terms like "boy" or "baby" to keep things impersonal. My interest was piqued when I saw another man standing before reporters on a podium, and I decided listening to one more news report couldn't hurt.

Detective Brookes commented on the matter, "This has been a recurring theme in the area for months—men between twenty and forty disappearing without a trace. They leave no signs of travel. The state police department urges anyone with information to come forward. We also ask that if any man disappears, especially if it is out of the ordinary, their family report it to the police immediately."

Other men noted missing in the area include Paul Winston, Daniel Collins, Rob Hamilton, Keith James, and Liam Nelson. Families are unsure if the men knew each other or have joined each other elsewhere, but they are urging them to contact home or anyone who knows of their whereabouts to call the state police department with this information.

"These cases are being handled by a highly renowned detective," the reporter continued, "who asks any witnesses to these disappearances to step forward or contact him directly."

All of them were men I had decided to kill. In my defence, I only ever killed my toys when they misbehaved; it was much easier that way. The more men I took, the more people noticed. Besides, I enjoyed the thrill of the long haul rather than a quick slash and dash—those only occurred when someone stumbled upon something they shouldn't have, and I needed to "take care" of them. I reflected on the detective's words, pondering how long I could continue before the net closed in.

"Angelina, I thought you weren't watching news reports anymore?" Luke chuckled. His sudden presence startled me; I hadn't even noticed him enter the room. He must have been there for a few minutes to realize I was watching the news. My lack of awareness was disconcerting, but I decided to ignore it for now since I had no immediate prey to worry about. I noticed he had been standing behind the seat I was lounging on, unmistakably close.

"I was only half-interested," I whined, looking up at him as he peered over my shoulder.

"The Greenery called," he whispered. I sighed in response. "They requested you appear at their offices today, but I told them you were laid up in bed. They asked if you could call them back as soon as possible to rearrange a meeting. I also informed them that the newest 'toy' had been put in working order and that they should look forward to the product."

I rolled my eyes at his vague phrasing. He was far more discreet than I ever had to be, though I didn't often receive phone calls from The Greenery.

The Greenery was an established black-market dealership. I provided them with "goods," and they split the profits with me. Our partnership was strictly on a need-to-know basis, but I was acquainted with most of the men behind it through various underground connections. A member had specifically sought me out for my ability to operate without drawing much attention. To keep the heat off myself, I had been running a wedding planning service—mainly for the irony. Being a woman living alone, unmarried, and without a job would attract more attention than someone who was self-sufficient.

"Why do they still request to see me if they know a new product is coming soon?" I mused aloud, sensing Luke shrug behind me. I looked up to see him pacing the floor. He could never stay still for long; he was the type who needed to act and keep moving.

"I doubt it's about the product quantity; I provide them enough on my own for them not to worry," he replied, rolling his head on his shoulders. "On another topic, Angelina, I heard you were taking Florence on her first hunt."

I nodded, feeling too drained to articulate a response. I stretched my legs out in front of me, noticing they were still stained with dirt from my run in the forest. I groaned, realizing I'd need a proper wash before heading out tonight. With my pets, they usually got used to seeing me unmade-up within a few days, but for tonight's task, I needed to make an effort. Unfortunately, men aren't drawn to nothing—not in the way I needed, anyway.

"I could assist with it if you like. I needed a new plaything," Luke offered.

"If you needed a new plaything, you didn't need an excuse to come along," I sneered, biting the inside of my cheek.

"I genuinely care for the girl...sort of. Actually, not really. I care about you, as I always have, Angel. If she starts creating tracks, I'm the one who'll have to deal with her because you have too much of a heart for her."

At first, I believed he did care for Florence, but his contempt for her was evident. He refused to harm her because he didn't want to hurt me—physically, mentally, or emotionally. He knew the impact that would have on me, and he cared too much for it not to affect him as well.

He loves Cleo and Diana in the same way he's always loved me. Cleo was already my other half in more ways than one, and Diana was just as twisted as me, though her perpetual happiness naturally drew people in.

"I wouldn't let you hurt her, you know that, right?" I raised my voice slightly, needing him to understand the seriousness of my words.

"What happened to not caring about anyone, Angel?" His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, leaving me unsettled.

"I think we've discovered that's not possible, especially when it comes to you," I admitted, my throat tightening as I realized the truth. I had allowed myself to love but had locked my heart away tightly, refusing to give anyone else the key. My loyalty had already been given, and I wasn't eager to offer it again unless necessary.

"That's different. We're very much like you. Cleo, Diana, and I, not Florence. That girl is three streets behind us," he laughed, acknowledging the truth. They were all alike, while Florence was the lovable, yet different, black sheep.

"She's my family," I argued, feeling the weight of the words. Florence was the only family member who still held that title, aside from Cleo. The rest of my family had moved out of the country—Australia, I think. It was for the best; the idea of harming my own blood was too much to bear, even though my tolerance hadn't quite caught up to my emotions.

"And the rest of us?" He sounded offended.

"You're a different kind of family. The kind the younger me dreamed of," I explained. It was true; the hidden part of me, the true me, had always fantasized about having a family that worked together to eliminate obstacles. I had once thought it would remain a dream, following my mother's path of marriage and children, but my heart wasn't in it.

Perhaps I should be thankful that my late fiancé had allowed the Angelina I know to grow and embrace her true nature.

eloquence; beauty and persuasion in speech