Fontanellette
"How long have you known?"
At her side, the cat kept pace with something of a struggle, trotting along, his tail swishing in the air, his deep, green eyes glancing up towards her.
Long enough, I suppose, came his reply.
She looked over at him, a wrinkle of a frown forming upon her forehead.
"You couldn't even remember your name when we met, and now you're telling me that all along you've known I was the Princess?"
The cat's fur rose slightly along the curve of his spine, his tail curling into something of a question mark.
Well, something like that, I suppose, yes.
She scoffed, hefting the heavy tote bag up on her left shoulder.
"I don't really have much faith in your memory, you know," she announced, her tone disparaging.
Again, the fur along his spine rippled.
Some things are more important than others, he retorted, clearly annoyed with her doubt. Some things stay in your mind.
Even after you've died, Mina thought, trying again to understand the enormity of the story the cat had told her when first she had found him haunting her garden. She kept striding forward, unwilling to give voice to such thoughts, knowing that, what with his memory loss, he was just as much in the dark as she was.
Still, she thought, a princess.
She stopped abruptly, and it took the cat a second to realise she was no longer walked ahead, his whole body tensing as he turned to find her pushing against the heavy glass door of a shop, white Converse crossing the threshold.
Wait, what are you doing? he asked, his voice full of confusion.
She looked back at him, blinking slowly.
"Clothes shopping," she answered with confusion.
Poised several steps ahead, his tail swaying with agitation, Artemis regarded her with equal bewilderment.
You're the moon princess, he said, speaking slowly as if to make his point clear. Don't you think you have other more important things to be doing? After all, the youma we encountered recently certainly wasn't the last, not if the Negaverse is—
"Yeah, but I've still got stuff I need to do, right?"
She remained there, hands pushed against the glass the door, the sound of music filtering through the speakers above the long racks of blouses, the faint rattle of percussion, an overpowering bassline.
You're impossible, the cat said with a shake of his head.
She shrugged.
"I'm 15, what did you expect?"
With a sigh of exasperation, her mentor, soft and white fur, sparkling green eyes, slowly followed her inside.