There are cities that have never seen war. There are prisons that have stayed empty for thousands of years. Some people have never had a reason to stop smiling. Soldiers may have never drawn their swords. There is fine china that will never fall to the floor and hearts that will never break. There are angels that have settled hearts and calmed radical emotions.
These are the worst kind.

A foreigner walked with the native men of Ooric in the twilight hours. Not with, per say, but alongside. And by “along side,” it is meant that he was simply walking in the same direction.
He took a turn, and another. Then he was at a door titled “Citizen Registration”. It looked as cheerful as the natives, who never stopped smiling nor yelled when they were knocked off their feet in the rush of the crowd. It made the foreigner sick.
Another native sat at a desk inside the building, with her long honey hair over her shoulder and a velvet dress in the style of the times. Her lips made a drugged smile as she asked, “Would you like to apply for citizenship?”
The foreigner cleared his throat, and his voice had the sound of someone who had not spoken in days. “Yes. That would be helpful.”
The woman lifted an ink-wet quill to her paper. “May I ask your name and nationality?” She lifted an expectant eye to the foreigner.
“Allan Luti. I’m from the neighboring county of Absalom.”
When she was done, the woman handed Allan the papers. “To register, you need to work for a fortnight in the palace without pay. They’ll provide boarding and uniform.” She smiled at Allan. “Take your papers to the head maid.” She pointed to a door at her left. “Just go through there.”
Allan nodded and left. A pudgy woman in a medical mask bustled over to Allan upon noticing him. With a nodded greeting, she snatched the papers from his fingers and placed them on her desk. Allan took note of her quick scowl. He assumed she was the head maid.
“Another foreigner, eh? There are simply too many of ya. You’ll have to really prove yourself a hard worker. Ya won’t get no shit from me, no, sir. If I catch you pilfering anything, I’ll deport ya, hear?” She shook a crooked finger at him.
“I’m no thief,” Allan said with a proverbial finger crossed.
She gave him an odd look, but continued. “There’s your uniform over there. Change quickly. You’ve got work to do.” Allan grabbed the uniform and looked for a room to change in. The head maid scowled. “What ya waitin’ for? Strip!” Allan blushed and turned away as he changed clothes.
The head maid shoved a bowl of green paste into Allan’s arms. “Leave this the Prince to eat in the morning. Do not wake him. His room is just down the stairs. I have to meet the Elders to give a report on his Majesty’s health.” She stomped down the hall, leaving Allan to his work.
The stairs were slippery under Allan’s feet. The air was musky and humid. Allan hesitated. In his country, the only reason a prince would resort to such vile living space was if the prince was in danger of assassination. If such peaceful natives wanted to murder their prince, how awful of a person must he be when accidentally woken?
He continued. His intention was to hurry to the Prince’s chambers and swipe a gold item, and then send it home to his family, who was nursing his sick sister. He knew that she would have no medicine if he did not steal, and he hated it.
The door creaked as it opened. Allan held back a gasp as he saw a male figure suspended on gargantuan vines. Vines sprouted from his back. Stringy black hair fell over his skull-white face. The whole room was covered in the large vines.
Allan stumbled back, close to vomiting. He held a hand over his mouth, attempting to keep down his breakfast. He failed, emptying his stomach onto the floor.
Roused by the sound of liquid hitting the floor, the suspended man opened his dark eyes. Allan glanced up, and could not tear his eyes away from the childlike eyes of the man. The man smiled at Allan.
Let me down.