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Korea pulsed like a living wound.
Billboards screamed pleasure. Neon painted lies on sweating glass. Every rooftop bar, every velvet-backed club, every alley brimming with the desperate and the dazzling — they all bled with a need to be seen, to be wanted, to forget.
Evelynn walked into the heart of it.
The bouncer didn’t card her. Didn’t ask for her name. He just looked at her — then looked away, like his body knew something his mind didn’t. Like it wasn’t worth denying her entry. Eyes resisting to linger longer than they should've.
The club swallowed her in one breath.
Music hit like heat: low, slithering bass that made people move even if they didn’t want to. Fog crawled along the floor like smoke from something divine and burning. Bodies moved as one, lost in rhythm, each one pretending to feel alive.
Evelynn didn’t dance.
She glided — slow, precise, in heels sharp enough to puncture bone. Her hips swayed like a dare. Her dress clung like water. Her eyes shimmered with a luster just a shade too unnatural.
People noticed.
They always did.
Men whispered to their friends. Women glanced, then couldn’t stop glancing. A server dropped her tray as Evelynn passed — too close, too sudden, too much. Something in the air behind her tasted wrong. Like perfume over blood.
But she didn’t stop.
Not yet.
Because she was hungry.
Not for flesh.
Not for lust.
But for that flicker of agony — the gasp when someone realized too late what she was.
Lately, even that had become hard to find.
Modern pain was so boring. Everyone so numb, so polished. Even the tortured wore it like an aesthetic now. “Sad” was a brand. “Suffering” came in filters and pills. Runterra long gone and magic weak. Agony no longer filling as it once did.
But still — somewhere in the sea of posturing and overpriced cocktails, someone had to be hurting the right way.
She reached the second floor — private lounges bathed in red. Less noise. More shadows.
That’s when she saw him.
Sitting alone in the corner. Hands clenched around a drink that hadn’t been touched. Dressed like he wanted to be ignored, but his shoulders were drawn tight. His gaze flicked toward the crowd, then away. Nervous. Distant.
Wounded.
Good.
Evelynn smiled.
She approached without sound. Sat beside him without asking. When he turned his head, she was already leaning close, lips near his ear, voice like silk sliding over a razor.
“What are you running from, darling?”
He startled — and just as quickly composed himself. But his eyes darted, and his voice was slower than it should’ve been.
“What do you care?”
She ran a finger along the rim of his glass. Didn’t blink.
“I don’t. Not really. I just like the way you look when you're hurting.”
He should’ve left. He didn’t.
Instead, he laughed — brittle and bitter — and said, “You’re fucked up.”
Evelynn’s smile widened.
“You have no idea.”
She leaned in, brushing her lips near his neck — not touching. Not yet.
“Come with me.”
He hesitated.
But in the end, they always followed.
And somewhere behind her, the club’s lights flickered — just once — like they sensed her hunger finally stirring to life.
The door clicked shut behind them.
A private suite. All velvet and low light. Mirrors on every wall, catching every angle. No cameras — Evelynn made sure of that. Not because she was shy, but because this wasn’t a show for anyone but her.
He stood near the window, trying to look relaxed. One hand on his drink. The other fumbling in his pocket — nerves, maybe, or something more chemical.
Evelynn could already smell it.
Something sharp and metallic beneath his skin. Not blood. Not fear.
Pharma.
He’d taken something. Not to relax — to disconnect. Probably a dissociative. Maybe something stronger. The modern kind. The kind that rewrote the brain's panic responses and replaced them with void.
Her hunger growled beneath her skin.
"Please... don’t be boring."
She stepped close, hips swaying, eyes half-lidded. Her fingers trailed along his arm, nails tracing the veins beneath the skin like cartography. He watched her with dilated pupils and parted lips.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, drunk on illusion.
Evelynn smiled, soft and venom-sweet.
“I’m worse than that.”
She kissed him — slow at first. Let him taste danger, mistake it for passion. His hands landed on her waist, unsure, clumsy. He wasn’t afraid yet. Not really.
That came later.
Her lashers unfurled behind her like shadows slipping free — slow, elegant. Not seen. Not by him. They coiled near his spine as she deepened the kiss, one hand cupping his jaw, the other pressing gently against his chest.
She could feel his heartbeat.
Too steady.
She whispered into his mouth, “Say you trust me.”
He did.
Of course he did.
That was the part she hated most — how easy it was.
The lashers struck in silence.
One plunged between his ribs, curling lovingly around his heart. The other punctured through the gut, twining in his intestines. She pulled — not with force, but with precision. Slow. Measured. The way a violinist draws a bow.
He gasped.
Choked.
And then… nothing.
Not a scream.
Not a sob.
Not even a twitch.
His hands didn’t push her away. They trembled, sure — but without resistance. Without terror.
She pressed closer, cheek against his. Her claws sunk into his chest as she tore the muscle open in a blooming red arc. The sound was wet, beautiful.
Still… no fear.
His eyes rolled, his lips parted, a thin line of blood sliding from his mouth.
But no plea.
No panic.
No pain.
“Come on,” Evelynn whispered. “Feel something.”
She carved deeper. Her lashers twisted harder. His bones cracked like branches beneath her grasp.
His body jerked — but it was automatic. Reflex.
His soul was already gone.
Dead before the death.
Another numbed-out husk.
She let the heart fall to the floor with a wet thud. It barely beat once.
The silence after was louder than any scream.
Evelynn stepped back, drenched in red, eyes glassy. Her breath shallow. Her mouth drawn in a line.
Not satisfied.
Not even close.
She stood over the body and stared. A snarl faint on her lips.
Then whispered bitterly,
“You should’ve made me work for it.”
The bathroom mirror didn’t reflect the truth.
It rarely did.
Evelynn stood before it now, pale skin bathed in neon, dark blood staining her throat, her hands, the hem of her dress. The heart still lingered on her lashes in faint copper stains.
She didn’t rush.
One by one, she cleaned the smears from her fingers. Under the nails. Along the edges of her lips. She kept her motions slow, precise. Almost meditative.
No one would knock.
No one would dare.
She wet a cloth in cold water and pressed it to her chest, where red had seeped through the fabric and dried. The sting was slight, but it felt good. Clean pain. Fleeting. Pointless.
> “Still nothing,” she murmured to her reflection.
Her eyes were sharp, but not glowing.
Her smile was gone.
The music pulsed faintly through the walls. Something aggressive, synthetic. Her hunger hadn’t faded — if anything, it had worsened. That man, with his dulled nerves and blank death… he’d only teased her appetite.
Not satisfied it.
Not even close.
She reapplied her lipstick — a deep, glossy plum — and let the illusion settle back over her like a silk veil. When she emerged from the restroom, not a drop of blood remained.
She walked back into the heat of the club like nothing had happened.
No one noticed the absence of the man she’d left with.
No one cared.
The bar was still full. Bodies brushing shoulders. Bartenders flipping bottles like conjurers. Faces blurred in a haze of perfume and lights.
She slid onto a stool like it was hers.
The man beside her — tan, jaw like a broken statue, cheap cologne and expensive clothes — noticed her immediately.
Of course he did.
“That’s quite the entrance,” he said with a smile.
She didn’t answer at first. Just let her eyes flick to his. Measured. Cold.
“You always this lucky?”
“Only when I’m bored,” he grinned.
He ordered them both a drink. Something pink and overpriced. Evelynn didn’t sip it.
She watched him watching her.
He leaned closer.
“You look like you’re chasing something.”
She tilted her head, amused. “And you think you have it?”
He smirked, reached into his jacket, and palmed something small into her hand beneath the bar. A capsule. Sleek. Blue. Not street-level trash — something sharper.
“Experimental,” he said under his breath. “Hits the limbic system directly. Euphoria. Dissociation. High pain tolerance.”
Evelynn rolled it between two fingers.
“You tried it?”
“I’ve watched people cry on the ceiling from it,” he said. “In a good way.”
She smiled then — slow and deliberate. A predator humoring a lesser species.
“You shouldn’t give things like this away for free.”
“I’m not,” he said, leaning close. “Call it… shared curiosity.”
Evelynn didn’t break eye contact as she brought the capsule to her lips and swallowed it dry.
No hesitation.
No question.
The man looked thrilled. Waiting to see what would happen.
Evelynn closed her eyes.
Waited.
And when the first wave hit — cool fire behind her eyes, a hum through her spine — her breath shuddered.
It wasn’t pain.
But it was something.
And for now… that was enough.
It hit her like velvet knives.
Not a rush. Not a spark. But a slip — the ground beneath her feet quietly unhooking from gravity. Her pulse slowed in her ears. The bar lights smeared like spilled wine, every edge of the room bending around her skin instead of her gaze.
She felt light.
Not weightless.
Hollow.
For the first time in decades, Evelynn blinked — and felt dizzy.
Her fingers curled around the bar top. Not from panic. Not quite. But her balance wasn’t hers anymore. Her body felt like something she was wearing. Detached.
She laughed.
Soft. Surprised.
It came out strange — half-gasp, half-tremor.
“That’s new,” she whispered to no one.
The man beside her spoke — something flirty, self-satisfied — but his words flattened in her ears. Distant. Pointless. He no longer mattered.
Because something else was happening.
Something deep in her chest.
The hunger was gone.
Not full.
Not satisfied.
Just... quiet.
Muted like a fire behind frostbitten nerves. The ache still there — but distant. Like a scream underwater.
And in its place — something sharper bloomed.
Agony.
But hers.
A pressure behind her ribs, cold and bright. It didn’t hurt like a wound. It hurt like a truth. Like a wound that never formed but should have. Her breath stuttered. Her jaw clenched involuntarily.
She pressed a palm to her chest.
The spot where hearts usually go.
“You bitch,” she murmured to herself, laughing again.
Because this was what she gave them, wasn’t it?
This helplessness.
This warped rhythm.
This dizzy, overwhelming collapse of control.
It didn’t terrify her.
Not exactly.
It thrilled her.
The room was a blur of sound and sweat, all motion and light distortion. But inside her, something had turned inward — curled up, purring and raw. She imagined flaying herself open and finding something beautifully broken inside.
She turned in her seat, shoulders rolling like silk, and let her head fall back.
Eyes half-lidded.
Throat bare to the ceiling.
The predator, consumed.
And for the first time since she crawled from the void —
She didn’t want to hurt anyone else.
She just wanted to feel it a little longer.
The man tried to touch her wrist, emboldened by her stillness.
She flinched.
Not out of fear.
But because his skin didn’t burn like hers did.
She pulled her hand away and stood.
No words. No seduction.
Just the whisper of her steps as she left the bar behind, walking with a sway more unsteady than sin — eyes unfocused, lips parted, pulse slow.
She disappeared into the back hallway again.
Not to hunt.
Not to kill.
Just to be alone.
To sit in the dark.
To let the drug bite her over and over —
The world came back in pieces.
A ceiling she didn’t recognize.
Fluorescent light flickering.
Dust floating like ash.
Evelynn blinked against it, groaning — a sound more human than she’d ever allow herself to make if she were fully awake.
Her mouth was dry.
Metallic.
Her skin slick with sweat that had long since cooled, clinging in unpleasant places. Her dress stuck to her thigh, one lash still semi-manifested and twitching faintly beneath her shoulder blade.
She sat up too fast.
Her skull cracked open behind her eyes.
Pain bloomed. But not the right kind.
It was dull. Heavy. Sick.
The kind of pain that didn't come from feeding — but from falling.
The room was empty.
The club — once pulsing and alive — was nothing more than hollow echo now. Tables overturned. Chairs stacked. The speakers silent. Only the soft hiss of a cleaning drone in the distance.
And her — curled in the back VIP booth like discarded lingerie.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her phone.
Unread messages.
Blurred names.
Time stamps that didn’t make sense.
Some flirtation.
One from the man at the bar.
Another — more persistent — simply said: “Where’d you go?”
She didn’t remember leaving him.
She didn’t remember anything after… the warmth.
The thrum in her bones.
The ache in her chest that felt so sweet.
Had she passed out?
Or wandered?
Had she hurt someone?
Did she care?
She dropped the phone. It landed screen-down on the plush seating beside her.
Her eyes drifted to her hand.
There were faint scratches there. On her knuckles. A bruise blooming across her wrist. She hadn’t felt them happen. She hadn’t felt anything.
And now?
She felt nothing again.
No hunger.
No satisfaction.
Just the echo of what the drug gave her — the illusion of agony.
A phantom taste of satisfaction. A lie she begged to believe.
“Fuck.”
The word was bitter in her mouth.
She stood, legs stiff, back aching from the position she’d slept in. The soles of her heels were scuffed. Her lipstick smeared halfway across her cheek.
In the mirror by the stairwell, she barely recognized herself.
Not the predator.
Not the goddess.
Just a woman who used to be untouchable — now needed poison to feel anything at all.
Her claws retracted without flourish. Her shoulders fell.
She stepped into the morning light spilling through the club’s back exit — and hissed softly at how clean the air felt.
Everything was wrong in the daylight.
It always was.
And worse, as she walked down the alley, she realized her hunger was back.
Sharper than before.
Twisting.
Still no closer to full.
The K/DA house sat tucked behind tall hedges and darker glass. Private. Tasteful. Surgical in its perfection. The kind of place you disappear into, not from.
Evelynn pushed open the front door just after noon, light bleeding through designer windows. Her shades stayed on. Her heels clicked over polished floors like guilt echoing off the walls.
It was quiet.
She liked it that way.
Until she heard her.
“There you are.”
Ahri’s voice floated from the kitchen. Light. Warm. Soft as a song not yet stuck in your head.
Evelynn paused at the threshold.
Then smiled — slow, effortless, razor-sharp.
“Miss me already?” she purred, slipping her glasses off and hooking them onto her neckline.
Ahri leaned against the counter, sipping from a ceramic mug, tails swaying lazily behind her. Loose sweatshirt. No makeup. Fox ears twitching once when she heard the door. Golden eyes bright, but her gaze narrowed as she looked Evelynn over.
“You were gone all night.”
“You know how I get,” Evelynn said, walking past her, heading toward the fridge. “Clubs. Cocktails. Devotion. Men.”
She didn’t open the fridge. Just touched it. Cold steel helped steady her.
Ahri tilted her head slightly, the way she always did when she was listening harder than she let on.
“You didn’t check in.”
“Since when do I clock out for you?” Evelynn’s voice stayed teasing, but her body was off-rhythm. Her movements had that slight drug-hangover lag — graceful, but a second behind her own skin.
Ahri’s smile didn’t drop, but her tone softened.
“You okay?”
Evelynn looked at her for just a breath too long.
Something flickered in her expression. Not vulnerability. Not fear.
Just a crack.
A second of silence.
A breath held too long behind the teeth.
Then she turned, the moment gone.
“I’m fine, Ahri. You’re sweet to ask. Miss Perfect always checking in.”
Ahri didn’t flinch at the jab. She walked forward slowly, her mug warm between her hands, watching Evelynn as she leaned against the counter like it could keep her standing.
“You didn’t feed last night,” Ahri said gently.
That stopped Evelynn.
Not entirely — just long enough for her smile to twitch, nearly falter.
“Oh?” she asked, laughing under her breath. “And what makes you think I didn’t?”
“Because I can feel when you do. You come back different. Brighter. Sharper. You hum with it.” Ahri’s voice lowered. “You’re not humming.”
Evelynn looked at her again, this time with something unreadable behind her eyes.
“Maybe I was off tempo.”
Ahri didn’t press further. Just nodded slowly and took another sip from her mug.
Evelynn pushed off the counter and headed for the stairs.
“Going to shower,” she muttered. “Still sticky.”
Ahri let her go — for now.
But as she stood alone in the kitchen, her gaze drifted to the spot where Evelynn had just been.
There was something she couldn’t shake — a shadow behind those amber eyes, a flicker of something cracked beneath the polish.
Evelynn didn’t just look tired.
She looked hollow.
The door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality.
Evelynn stood in the silence of her bedroom, the echo of her heels fading into plush carpet. The curtains were drawn, suffocating the sunlight in favor of ambient blue LEDs that cast soft shadows across pristine walls. Her scent was thick in the air — rose, smoke, sweat, and faint ozone.
Her jacket slipped from her shoulders. It hit the floor with a lifeless whisper.
She walked into the bathroom, her bare feet silent against the cold marble tile. The mirror greeted her not with vanity — but with accusation.
There she was.
Still beautiful.
But barely.
Her glamor faltered under the halogen glow, just slightly — the edges of her form bleeding into shadow where her skin should’ve been smooth. Her clavicle stood out too sharply. Her eyes sunk a little too far into her sockets. The corners of her mouth held a tremble she refused to acknowledge.
And her lashers — the parts of her that were never human — curled against the walls behind her. Slow. Heavy. Hungry.
She swallowed.
Hard.
Her stomach didn’t growl. It never did. But her soul did — that place deep inside where agony fed her like wine, and wine like blood, and blood like memory.
“Not again,” she whispered, dragging her fingers under her eyes.
But the mirror didn’t lie.
And the shadows didn’t recede.
They pooled under her ribs, slithered down her back, trailed like smoke from her spine. Her figure warped at the edges, barely tethered to the illusion of flesh.
She needed pain.
She needed to feed.
To feel their terror.
To press into someone’s last moment and take it into herself like breath.
But...
That’s not what she wanted.
Not right now.
Instead — beneath the hunger — something subtler coiled.
Craving.
The other kind.
The blue capsule. The chemical burn. That numb, beautiful hum that muted her instincts and turned the screaming inside her into a lullaby.
She could almost taste it again.
Her body remembered how it sat on her tongue — like metal and electricity and regret. How it filled the void like warm smoke, crawling into the corners of her where agony used to live.
She stared at herself.
The demon.
The woman.
The lie.
And she whispered, bitter:
“You pathetic thing.”
Her hand rose and touched the glass. Fingertips against her own reflection, smudging the image. Her nails long, sharp, perfect.
The reflection didn’t smirk back.
It only stared.
Her mind raced — two hungers gnawing at opposite ends of her.
She could hunt.
She could kill.
Rip open someone’s chest, curl inside their pain like a lover.
Or—
She could make a call.
Find that man again. Or someone else. Someone who’d seen her the night before. Someone with something stronger. Sharper.
Her skin twitched at the thought.
The mirror rippled, just once — her form bleeding into the shadow of what she really was.
Only the silence of something feral growing quiet and clever.
She turned the shower on — steam rising like breath in the cold — and stepped under the water fully clothed.
The heat didn’t scald her.
It couldn’t.
Only agony could.
And even that wasn’t enough anymore.
Morning passed in silence.
No feeding.
No fix.
No relief.
Just a shower that didn’t scald her. Clothes that clung too tight. And a hunger that curled beneath her ribs like a whisper trying to become a scream.
But Evelynn — K/DA Evelynn — knew how to wear her skin even when it didn’t fit.
So she did.
The ride to the studio was quiet.
Ahri sat beside her in the SUV, scrolling through messages. Kai’Sa wore earbuds, bobbing her head to a beat no one else could hear. Akali snored faintly in the back, hood up.
Evelynn stared at the window.
Reflections passed in the glass — skyscrapers, ad screens, people rushing past crosswalks. None of it registered. It all looked like noise behind glass.
She adjusted her sunglasses. Her fingers trembled. Just once.
She curled them into fists and pressed them to her thighs.
The interview studio.
Bright lights. Gentle chairs. A backdrop of pastel LED and soft synth looping in the background.
“Evelynn, how do you maintain your stage presence so effortlessly?”
Smile. Cross your legs just so. Show them a little fang.
“Darling, if you need effort to be iconic… you’re not doing it right.”
Laughter. Applause. The host practically swooned.
Inside, her head throbbed.
The craving didn’t yell. It coiled. Tighter with each passing hour. Her skin felt wrong. Too tight. The makeup itched. Her voice felt a second behind her own thoughts. Her lashes twitched behind her back, invisible to everyone — aching, restrained.
Ahri glanced at her once. Subtle. Concern in the gold of her eyes.
Evelynn smiled wider in return. Perfect teeth. Perfect predator.
She wanted to scream. Rasp, growl. Claw herself out of this skin.
Back in the SUV. Kai’Sa chewing gum too loud. Akali rapping under her breath.
Ahri glanced at her again. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Evelynn replied, not even looking.
“You’re pale.”
“I’m always pale.”
Ahri didn’t laugh. Just looked. Then nodded. Let it drop.
Evelynn pressed her head back against the leather seat and closed her eyes.
In the dark behind her lids, the blue pill glowed like a cigarette in the distance.
The house was quiet again.
Dinner was offered. She declined.
The others settled in for the night — Netflix and leftover ramen, giggles from the living room. Ahri stayed behind when the others moved to the couch, her gaze lingering on Evelynn again.
Evelynn paused halfway up the stairs.
“Don’t start,” she said quietly.
“I wasn’t going to,” Ahri replied, voice gentle. “But… if you need to talk—”
“I need a fucking nap,” Evelynn cut in.
Her voice was sharper than intended. She hated how raw it sounded.
Ahri didn't react.
Evelynn didn’t apologize.
She kept walking. Entering her room.
The city called to her like an old lover with fresh teeth.
She stepped back out dressed in midnight — black leather, thigh-highs, and lipstick dark as bruised fruit. Her lashers hummed against her spine, but the hunger was flat. No appetite. Just ache.
The craving whispered.
“One more.”
Just a little.
She stood on the curb outside the gates, staring at the swarm of nightlife downtown. Lights. Noise. Clubs throbbing like open veins.
And still…
Still she hesitated.
Did a demon that tormented and haunted generations need a human made item to bring her back?
The thought didn’t comfort her.
Because even as her feet carried her into the dark again, her mind wasn’t chasing prey.
It was chasing relief.
She walked aimlessly. Towards the underground portion of the city. The part that came alive at night. Bustling with people who wanted to escape their lives.
She found him in the alley behind a bar.
Not the good kind. Not her kind.
It smelled like piss and stale beer and the ash of burned-out dreams.
She’d never stooped this low.
But tonight, she was starving.
And her patience was gone.
He was tall. Built. Dressed like someone who wanted to be dangerous. Gold chain. Tattoos. He lit a cigarette with shaky hands and muttered to himself while pissing against the wall.
Evelynn stepped out of the shadows, hips slow, smile sharp.
“Rough night?”
He turned, startled, eyes dragging across her curves with predictable lust. She didn’t wait for him to speak.
She kissed him.
Hard. No build-up. No sweetness. Her mouth against his like venom poured straight from the source.
He moaned.
But something in her didn’t like the sound.
Too eager. Too soft.
The hunger in her spine snarled — wrong. He’s wrong.
Her lashers surged out without warning — not elegant this time. One snaked around his neck, the other slammed him into the brick with a crunch that rattled his teeth.
His cigarette hit the ground. Ash bloomed like blood.
“Wha— What the fuck?!” he gasped.
She hissed into his ear, claws dragging down his chest.
“Beg.”
He sobbed.
But again — something was off.
It wasn’t real.
It wasn’t fear.
It was confusion. Alcohol. Maybe stimulants. Maybe more.
“I SAID BEG.”
Her voice cracked. Not sultry. Not seductive. Just frayed. Raspy. Dark. Almost demonic.
She drove one lasher into his thigh — slow, twisting — watching the blood run down like melted wax.
He screamed.
But it wasn’t right.
It wasn’t beautiful.
It didn’t feed her.
She felt nothing.
And that was worse than any hunger.
She tore into him harder. Lasher to the ribs. One through the gut. Not calculated — furious. Her body shook with every motion. Rage uncoiled beneath her skin, wild and unworthy.
He slumped. Still alive. Eyes wide. His mouth moved, but no words came. Evelynn crouched beside him, hand gripping his jaw.
His eyes weren’t even focused.
“Feel it,” she snarled. “I need you to feel it.”
But he didn’t.
Drugs dulled everything. Pain. Panic. Soul.
He was meat. Just meat.
And in that moment, she hated him for it.
She hated the world for going numb.
She hated herself.
Her lashers snapped like whips, slashing deep into his chest — not to savor, just to end it.
The heart gave a half-beat before collapsing in her hand like spoiled fruit.
Warm. Wet.
Pointless.
She let it fall. Her hands slick with blood. Her eyes wide.
The alley was silent again.
Evelynn stood over him, chest heaving, and felt the hollowness howl.
No high.
No relief.
No fullness.
Just emptiness.
She stumbled back against the wall, breath sharp, lips parted.
Her claws retracted, trembling.
She didn’t even clean herself this time. She left the body cooling in the alley, the heart lying like a dropped apple beside it.
The streets blurred. The club lights flickered past like dying neurons. Her body moved like it was on strings — too slow, too light. Her hands were still sticky. She hadn’t washed off the blood. It was drying now. Flaking at her wrist like old paint.
The body in the alley was still in her head.
Not the face. Not the scream.
The silence.
The uselessness.
The contact’s name was still in her phone. She hadn’t deleted it. Of course she hadn’t. She could have burned it. Could have smashed the phone. Could’ve done anything.
But she didn’t.
Her thumb hovered over the number.
Not the goddess. Not the diva.
Just a thing.
Empty. Trembling. Splattered in someone else’s blood.
Starving and still not hungry.
“You don’t get to do this again,” she whispered to herself.
But her fingers were already typing.
SEND LOCATION.
The reply came within seconds.
The dealer's place was a dive. Near the part of town she already found herself wandering in. Graffiti over the door. Neon flickering above. The building smelled like mold, and desperation.
Evelynn stepped inside with the hood of her jacket up. No charm.
No mask.
He recognized her anyway.
“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, grinning, already reaching for the case.
“Shut up,” she murmured.
Her voice laced with venom. Maybe exhaustion.
She took the pill from his hand without counting the rest. Didn’t even ask what it was. Blue again. Like before. Maybe stronger. She hoped so.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted it.
“You sure?” the dealer asked. “You look—”
“I said shut up.”
She didn’t take it in front of him.
She waited until she was back in the alley.
Back where no one could see her fall.
She crouched against the wall and took it dry.
The bitterness hit her tongue. The chemical sting bloomed across her gums. Her lashes flickered out briefly, involuntarily, twitching like snakes that’d just been slapped.
And then — nothing.
Not at first.
Then lightness.
False.
But she took it anyway.
The world blurred sideways. Her pulse slowed. The hunger faded, muted under a thick blanket of fake warmth.
She leaned back and closed her eyes.
Breathing deeper.
Lying to herself.
Letting it all be quiet.
She woke up with someone else’s coat draped over her legs.
And a headache that clawed like rot through her skull.
The floor beneath her was cheap carpet, sticky and uneven. The room smelled like sweat, artificial fruit, and burnt circuits. A flat screen buzzed quietly on the wall, playing some late-night talk show with the volume muted.
Evelynn blinked.
The world came into focus one crack at a time.
She was alone.
Still dressed — mostly.
Her jacket was missing.
Her boots were gone.
Her nails were chipped.
Her throat burned.
She sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her temple, and felt something crusted along the side of her face.
Makeup?
No. Dried blood.
Not hers. Probably.
The window blinds were half open. Orange sunlight streamed through, painting sharp stripes across the mess of blankets and cables.
There was no mirror in this room.
No reflection. No reminder.
Just her.
Raw. Worn out.
Wrong.
“Fuck,” she whispered, voice shredded from screaming she didn’t remember doing.
She stumbled to her feet. Her knees wobbled. Her balance was off.
Her body felt like it had been twisted, stretched, hung on a hook and left to dry.
Her lashers didn’t even twitch.
She tried to summon them — just once — and felt nothing.
Not resistance.
Not power.
Just… absence.
“You’ve really done it now.”
Her voice cracked.
She looked around — some hotel, maybe? A slum with electronic upgrades, judging by the flickering lights and the biometric lock on the door. There was an empty bottle on the nightstand. Not hers. A lighter. A tube of something that smelled like synthetic euphoria.
She had no memory of what she did here.
Who she saw.
What she said.
If she hurt someone.
If she tried to.
She found her boots near the door. No sign of her jacket. Her phone was dead in her pocket. She didn't bother turning it on.
She left the room without looking back.
Back in the daylight
The street was too bright.
Too fast.
People everywhere.
All those smells — coffee, sweat, hot cement — felt like static on her skin.
She walked with her head down, hood up again, moving through the city like a ghost. Her limbs were heavy. Her stomach ached with something close to hunger, but more like shame.
She didn't return to the K/DA house.
Not yet.
She needed to put herself back together first. Or pretend she had.
But even as she wandered the streets, pulse sluggish and head pounding, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The pill.
The numbness.
The silence.
The lie that tasted better than truth.
And a sick part of her wondered:
Maybe this is who I am now.
The house was too quiet.
It always was before nightfall. Kai’Sa at dance rehearsal. Akali out with friends or locked in her room. Ahri sometimes baking, sometimes humming, always aware.
Evelynn’s key still worked.
She stepped inside like a stranger might — cautious, tentative, almost hopeful that no one would see her.
Her heels clicked faintly on the polished wood floors. She wore new glasses. Hair up. Lips pale. No lashes showing. The glamour barely active — not from intention, but from inability.
The hallway swallowed her up. The scent of fresh jasmine from Ahri’s diffuser drifted into her lungs.
And she almost turned around and left.
Until—
“You're finally back.”
Ahri stood in the archway to the kitchen. No apron this time. Just a cropped sweater, loose joggers, and the same faint concern etched between her brows.
Evelynn froze. Just for a second.
Then she smiled.
Tight. Hollow.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Her voice was lighter than glass. Ready to shatter if Ahri touched it wrong.
Ahri didn’t answer with a quip. She stepped forward slowly, gold eyes locked on her.
“Where were you?”
“Out.”
“For two days.”
“I needed a break.”
Ahri’s gaze dipped over her — taking in the slightly smudged makeup, the shallow color in her cheeks, the tremble in her right hand that Evelynn tried too hard to hide.
“You look sick,” Ahri said quietly.
“Thanks.” Evelynn smiled again, wider this time. “Didn’t realize I was due for your approval.”
Ahri ignored the bite. She always did.
She stepped closer.
“You didn’t feed.”
Evelynn opened her mouth to lie, but stopped.
Because she couldn’t smell her own kill either. Couldn’t feel the charge of life through her blood. She was empty. Faint. A shimmer where there should be fire.
“I’m not hungry,” she muttered, brushing past Ahri toward the stairs.
“You always are,” Ahri said behind her. “Even when you lie.”
Evelynn paused. Her back stiffened.
Ahri didn’t press further.
Just said softly:
“Please don’t disappear like that again.”
It wasn’t scolding.
It wasn’t pity.
It was connection.
And Evelynn hated how much it hurt.
She turned back just enough to meet her eyes. Just for a breath.
“Don’t wait up next time, princess,” she whispered.
And then she walked upstairs — slowly, carefully — like she was afraid of breaking the floor beneath her.
Her room hadn’t changed.
The vanity still gleamed. The bed was untouched. The shadows curled along the edges, soft and waiting.
But she didn’t sit.
She stood in front of the mirror and stared at herself.
Still no lashes.
Still no glow.
Still no hunger.
Only a flicker of herself in her own eyes.
A calm before the quiet storm. A growl in her throat and a clench of her fists. She could stop. She always had control. It started as a curiosity, thats all. Her two attempts beforehand to see why the humans chased it. Thats all.
And so she tried. Days turned into weeks. An itch in the back of her throat. A dryness to her tongue. Tapping her claw adornments whenever she was out with the others. Keeping her persona true and up front to the camera and fans.
Her hunger never calmed. Clawing behind her makeshift skin. Moments where she stared at the interviewer or stylist. Where she could hear their hearts beat and her fangs aching, desperate to sink in. Eyes watching them move methodically. Predatory.
At night, in the private of her room, shadows rolled off her form. Emptiness suffocated her. She knew Ahri could sense it but she also knew Ahri wouldn't outwardly comment. Instead give her concern looks or soft gestures.
It sickened her that they worked. But not in the way the humans drugs worked. That alone calmed the fire within her. Quieted the urges to hunt and kill what moved.
Weeks turned into a month and Evelynn could barely keep the hunger in check. The modern world was actively scrubbing her away and she needed to adapt.
So she relented.
A pill here.
A line there.
A whisper behind a velvet curtain in the VIP lounge.
After parties that went on for too long.
No one noticed — not really. Not at first.
Because Evelynn was still Evelynn.
She showed up to interviews — late, but electric.
She killed her verses in studio recordings — rawer than ever.
She dazzled on stage, heels slicing across spotlights like knives.
If anything, people said she was better.
More intense.
More alive.
More… on fire.
But she knew better.
Because the fire wasn’t hers anymore.
The club was half-empty that night. Tokyo, after a shoot. Too tired to hunt. Too wired to sleep.
She let a stranger talk to her.
Let him put something in her hand.
Didn’t ask what. Didn’t care.
She swallowed it like a dare.
It hit her slow — warm in the chest, soft in the brain.
She leaned back on the leather booth and for the first time in weeks…
…she didn’t feel hungry.
She didn’t feel anything.
And for her — that was relief.
She didn’t do it every night.
Just on the bad ones. The low ones.
The nights her lashers wouldn’t answer.
The mornings her reflection didn’t recognize her hunger.
She told herself it wasn’t dependency.
That demons didn’t need anything.
That she was in control.
She wrapped it in glamor and called it choice.
Even when she started hiding the wrappers.
Even when she started stealing moments between soundcheck and spotlight just to breathe wrong. A smoke break that caught the attention of others but no one dared to question. Aesthetics right?
One night, Ahri almost caught her.
Bathroom door cracked open.
Ahri stepped in.
Evelynn hid the vial in her heel and turned with a smile too sharp, too fast.
“You alright?” Ahri asked.
“Of course,” Evelynn purred. “Just fixing my face.”
Ahri tilted her head, eyes narrow.
Ahri left.
Evelynn exhaled.
The pill dissolved under her tongue.
For a few months, this was Evelynn’s rhythm.
Dazzle. Dissolve. Perform. Retreat.
The line between agony and euphoria thinned, and so did her patience for authentic pain. Humanity didn’t feel the same anymore — too numb, too medicated, too quiet. No screams, no terror. Just trembling hands and silent shame.
But drugs gave her that again.
She became her own victim.
And she liked it more than she should’ve.
It started with missed interviews.
At first, the team laughed it off.
“That’s Evelynn,” the manager said. “She’s a diva. She’ll show up when she wants.”
But she didn’t.
She missed the next one, too.
And the one after that.
Makeup artists stopped bothering to prep her station. The stylist left her hangers empty. Her name on the dressing room door stayed, but the room behind it never opened.
Then, she started missing meals.
It wasn’t just skipping lunch. She stopped joining them altogether.
No morning coffee brewing in the kitchen. No sly, teasing remarks over toast. No laughter from the rooftop balcony while the city woke beneath her heels.
Ahri noticed first.
She always did.
At first, she tried small things — leaving Evelynn’s favorite cup out, knocking softly on her door, texting her a meme or some throwaway flirt just to pull a spark.
No response.
Eventually, she started making extra dinner plates anyway.
Just in case.
The untouched meals began to pile up in the fridge.
By week two, the silence settled in.
No lashes curled around corners.
No perfume lingered in the hallway.
No cruel smirks. No velvet steps. Just absence.
Ahri found herself standing outside Evelynn’s room one night with her hand resting on the door handle — unsure whether she wanted to open it or just make sure it was still locked.
She didn’t knock.
She just whispered, barely audible:
“You can’t just disappear."
Even Kai’Sa and Akali began to notice.
“She okay?” Akali asked one night, brows furrowed over her ramen. “I haven’t heard her threaten anyone in days.”
“It’s weird,” Kai’Sa agreed. “She’s usually so… loud.”
Ahri didn’t answer.
She just stirred her tea and stared out the window.
Wondering if Evelynn was even still in the house.
She was.
Sometimes Ahri heard movement at night.
Soft steps. A faucet turning on. The creak of floorboards in the hallway past midnight. Once, she saw Evelynn’s silhouette through the frosted bathroom glass — seated on the edge of the tub, unmoving.
But she never said anything.
Evelynn never looked up.
It became routine.
And that was worse than the silence.
Because the silence could be broken.
But this?
This was Evelynn vanishing by inches.
Becoming her own ghost.
It started with a photo.
Low-res. Flash-washed. Taken through a haze of smoke and bodies.
Evelynn — slouched in a velvet booth at some nameless Korean club. Head tilted back, mouth open like laughter or agony, dark rings under her eyes. A glass in one hand. Her other wrist clasped by someone not from K/DA.
And on the table beside her — lines.
White. Clean. Undeniable.
The caption read:
“Guess even divas need help getting high.”
Ahri stared at the image on her phone in the kitchen, heart sinking through her ribs.
More followed.
Clips. Snippets. Whispers.
Evelynn stumbling out of a back door in Seoul, teeth bared in a grimace that passed for a smile.
Photos of her curled against a wall in a bathroom stall, heavy-lidded, lashes flickering like dying sparks.
An audio leak. Someone giggling.
“That drugs give her a new kind of pain. What the fuck does that mean?”
The comments poured in.
Fans. Haters. Press.
“She's spiraling.”
“This explains the no-shows.”
“K/DA’s fallen angel. Sad to watch.”
“Honestly, this makes her hotter.”
“Someone get her help.”
“She doesn’t want help.”
And through it all, Evelynn said nothing.
No posts. No live streams. No apologies.
No denial.
Just silence.
Ahri read everything.
Every post. Every tag. Every carefully angled photo taken in darkness.
She watched as the girl who once owned every room like a temple of pain was reduced to gossip column fodder — a walking collapse in heels and heartbreak.
And the worst part?
She still didn’t know how to reach her.
That night, Ahri stood outside Evelynn’s bedroom door again.
Knocking would be loud. Too confrontational.
So she just leaned her head against the wood. Quiet. Still.
“They’re talking about you,” she whispered. “And you’re letting them.”
No response. Not even a breath.
Ahri closed her eyes.
“You made yourself out of agony. But this—this isn’t that. This is erasure.”
A longer pause.
Then softly, like a confession she didn’t want to admit:
“I miss you.”
She waited.
A minute. Two.
But Evelynn never opened the door.
The sun hadn’t even cleared the balcony glass when the kitchen lights flicked on.
Kai’Sa stood in her robe, holding her phone with both hands like it might bite her. The soft buzz of alerts echoed in the silence.
Ahri padded in next. Barefoot. Sweater off one shoulder. Her own phone already lit up with headlines.
“K/DA’s Evelynn Missing Again — Is This the Last of the Diva?”
“Club Crawl or Cry for Help? Evelynn Caught in Weekend Spiral”
“Exclusive: Drug Use, Abandoned Contracts, and the Star Who Disappeared”
They were everywhere.
The same few grainy photos. The same breathless speculation. And in all of them — Evelynn, undone. Smudged eyeliner. Shadowed cheekbones. Mouth open, eyes gone.
Ahri set her phone down on the counter like it was something dead.
Akali stomped in a minute later, baseball cap on, hoodie half-zipped.
“Okay,” she snapped, throwing her phone down. “This is not just diva shit anymore. What the hell is going on with her?”
Kai’Sa flinched at the tone but said nothing.
Ahri didn’t look up.
“She’s not okay,” she said softly.
“No shit she’s not okay,” Akali snapped. “She hasn’t shown up in two weeks. She skipped that collab shoot in Tokyo. She missed rehearsals. Now she’s blowing lines in a goddamn basement club while people are taking pictures?! We’re all gonna be doing damage control for months.”
Kai’Sa frowned, voice quieter but no less serious.
“I don’t care about the damage control. I care about her.”
Akali looked away. Bit her lip. Sat down heavily.
Ahri finally raised her head. Her eyes were tired. She hadn’t slept well in days.
“She’s… not herself,” she said. “She hasn’t been for a long time.”
“But you knew,” Kai’Sa said, not accusing — just sad. “Didn’t you?”
Ahri nodded. Slowly. Shamefully.
“She came home late. Quiet. Then she stopped coming home at all. She said she wasn’t hungry. But it wasn’t just her powers fading. It was her. Fading. I thought if I gave her space, she’d come back to herself.”
“And now she’s in a fucking tabloid.” Akali’s voice cracked.
Ahri turned her eyes down to her mug.
“Now… I don’t know if she even wants to come back.”
For a while, none of them spoke.
The air felt heavy. Too still.
Then, Kai’Sa broke the silence.
“If anyone can reach her,” she said gently, “it’s you.”
Ahri’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know if she wants to be reached.”
“That’s not the same thing,” Akali said. “She won’t let us in. But you? She’s always let you in. Even when she didn’t want to.”
Ahri exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes.
“She’ll hate me if I push.”
“Better than watching her vanish,” Kai’Sa murmured.
Ahri looked at both of them.
And something inside her — guilt, grief, love — finally rose like a tide she could no longer hold back.
“Alright.”
“Alright what?” Akali asked.
Ahri stood.
“I’m going to her room.”
“Right now?” Kai’Sa blinked.
“Yes.” Her voice was calm, but beneath it: steel. “No more waiting. No more pretending. If she hates me for it, so be it.”
She started down the hallway, every step deliberate.
“Someone has to remind her she’s still here.”
The hallway felt longer than usual.
Ahri moved slowly. Not with hesitation — but with the kind of purpose that came from walking into a fire you chose.
Each step rang soft against the wood. She stopped outside Evelynn’s door. The same door she’d passed for days. Weeks. Sometimes pressed her palm to. Sometimes whispered at.
She raised her hand.
Then knocked.
“Eve.”
No answer.
She tried again, softer.
“It’s me.”
Still nothing.
A breath. Then two.
Then — a twist of the knob.
Locked.
Of course it was.
“Evelynn… please. I’m not here to fight you.”
A pause.
Then, faintly — a sound. Shuffling. Fabric. Not the door. Something behind it.
Not silence, but no.
Ahri stepped back.
And let her glamour bloom. The soft, magic shimmer that came from her soul — and cracked the lock like a whisper. Just enough. A trick Evelynn had taught her once.
The door creaked open.
Darkness waited.
The room was a shell.
Curtains drawn. Air stale. Cold scent of dried perfume, synthetic smoke, and something worse: emptiness.
The vanity mirror was covered with a towel. The lights off. Clothes tossed over chairs, a half-empty bottle of something expensive beside a crumpled shirt. Cracked heels in the corner, never worn. Empty bottles littered the corners and nightstand.
And on the bed — Evelynn.
Or what was left of her.
She lay curled on her side, back to the door. A hoodie too big draped over her frame. One hand limp over the edge of the mattress, the nails chipped. No lashes. No glow.
Just a woman. Tired. Hollow. Vanished.
Ahri stepped in quietly and shut the door behind her.
“Eve…”
Nothing.
“I saw the pictures.”
Still nothing.
Ahri didn’t wait for permission. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.
Evelynn didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.
But she was awake.
That much Ahri could feel. That subtle tension under skin. That fragile wire pulled tight but refusing to break.
She reached out and touched her shoulder — gently. Just fingertips. Like touching a wound.
“You said you hated being powerless.”
Evelynn didn’t move.
“And now you’re giving yourself to something that’s eating you alive.”
Still no reply.
Ahri sat at the edge of the bed, keeping her voice calm — but firm.
“I know what you’ve been doing.”
That got a reaction.
Evelynn shifted slightly, fingers curling under the blanket.
“So what?” she murmured, eyes closed. “Going to lecture me like a manager now?”
Ahri stared at her.
“I’m not your manager,” she said. “I’m someone who’s watched you unravel quietly for months while pretending you were fine.”
Evelynn opened one eye, the faintest flicker of fire behind it.
“And what do you want, Ahri? A confession? Should I cry into your lap and beg for help?”
“No,” Ahri replied. “I just want you to look at me without lying.”
Silence.
Then Evelynn sat up, slow and stiff. The hoodie sagged around her, collarbone sharp, eyes bloodshot. She looked wrong — not because she wasn’t beautiful, but because her power was dimmed.
Faded.
Fractured.
“You think this was about pleasure?” she asked, voice cold. “You think I just wanted a new high?”
Ahri didn’t answer.
“This world…” Evelynn whispered, “is numb. It doesn’t hurt the way it used to. I feed on agony, Ahri. I used to taste it in screams, in betrayal, in fear. Now? Everyone’s already broken. Everyone’s on something. Everyone’s dead inside.”
She laughed bitterly.
“So I made myself one of them. I wanted to feel something real.”
Ahri’s gaze softened — not with pity. But understanding.
“And do you?”
Evelynn looked at her.
Paused.
Then, with a cracked whisper:
“No.”
Ahri reached forward — slowly — and took her hand.
“Then let me be real for you.”
Evelynn didn’t pull away.
She didn’t speak.
But for the first time in weeks — she stayed.
They didn’t say anything for a long time.
Ahri stayed at the edge of the bed, Evelynn’s hand loose in hers. Not gripping. Just... touching. The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was heavy. Like glass between two people who knew it could shatter if either one spoke too harshly.
The room smelled like sweat, like skin, like the fading ghost of a high.
Evelynn didn’t meet her eyes again. She just sat, hunched forward, arms wrapped around her knees, lashes downturned. Her makeup had smudged into the hollows beneath her eyes. Her hair stuck to her temple with sweat.
And Ahri had never seen her so small.
Not physically. Emotionally. Spiritually.
The hunger inside her used to fill entire stadiums — now it barely filled her chest.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Ahri said gently, “but I’m staying here.”
She stood, pulled the curtain shut tighter. Kicked off her slippers. Picked up the hoodie thrown across the chair and draped it over the bed’s edge.
Evelynn didn't move. Her eyes flicked to the floor, then to Ahri’s feet, then back down again.
“You’re not scared of me?” she asked.
It was almost a child’s voice.
“No,” Ahri whispered.
Evelynn’s lip curled, almost bitter — but the venom wasn’t there.
“You should be.”
Ahri sat beside her again, this time closer. Their shoulders touched.
“I was once,” she said. “But not anymore.”
Evelynn turned her face slightly toward her — just slightly.
“Why?”
Ahri was quiet. Thoughtful.
“Because you’re not hiding anymore.”
Hours passed.
Neither of them slept much.
Evelynn’s body was still twitchy — from withdrawal, from stress, from the tension of being looked at. Sometimes she shifted and groaned. Sometimes she whispered nonsense. Once, she gripped Ahri’s wrist tight enough to bruise and whispered don’t let me go without even realizing she’d said it.
Ahri stayed. Silent. Steady.
She let Evelynn rest her head on her lap.
Let her curl in, like a fox folding into warmth.
She brushed her fingers through the demon’s tangled hair, slow and rhythmic, like she might lull the venom out of her.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said once.
“Don’t promise that,” Evelynn murmured back, slurred and sleepy.
“Why not?”
“Because if you break it, it’ll ruin me.”
Ahri closed her eyes.
“Then I won’t.”
Near dawn
Evelynn finally slept.
Really slept.
The kind without tension in her jaw or twitching in her lashes.
Ahri stayed awake, watching her chest rise and fall, hearing the faint rasp in her breath, feeling the faint warmth of her body pressed to hers.
And for the first time in weeks, Ahri felt like maybe — just maybe — there was something left to save.
Not the legend.
Not the diva.
But the woman.
She woke up to a headache that felt like someone cracking glass inside her skull.
Her mouth was dry. Her spine ached. Her body screamed rest, but her nerves buzzed like live wires, itching under her skin — the kind of hunger that wasn’t hunger, the kind that wasn’t human.
Evelynn blinked into the low morning light slanting through her curtains.
The bed smelled like sweat and perfume.
And beside her — still — was Ahri.
Curled at the edge of the mattress, sleeping light. One hand still near Evelynn’s, like she’d never let it go. Her tails were tucked in, like a shield. Her hair a mess, but her expression… calm.
Evelynn swallowed thickly.
Shame climbed up her throat like bile.
Sitting up felt like a war.
Her stomach twisted.
Her limbs ached — deep bone aches, not the kind that could be stretched away.
She pressed her palm to her temple, tried to breathe slow, but her lungs felt tight. There was a hole in her chest where the high used to be, and now it was just noise — her heartbeat, her thoughts, the gnawing edge of needing something she couldn’t have.
She stood, staggered to the mirror in the bathroom.
Pulled off her hoodie.
The woman in the reflection wasn’t Evelynn.
Not the K/DA goddess.
Not the demon of agony.
Just a figure with cracked lips, shadowed eyes, and hunger pulling her ribs taut.
Shadows still rolled off her back — slow, weak. Like they resented her too.
She touched her collarbone and winced.
“You did this,” she whispered to her reflection. “You let this happen.”
She lost control.
Behind her: rustling.
Ahri stirred.
Evelynn watched her in the mirror. Watched as Ahri blinked awake, yawned softly, looked around — and saw her.
She didn’t panic.
She didn’t ask if Evelynn was okay.
She just sat up and said:
“Morning.”
Evelynn laughed — dry and bitter.
“Still here?”
“Still here.”
She turned slowly, hands gripping the sink to keep herself steady.
“Why?”
Ahri stood, barefoot on the carpet, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Because you didn’t ask me to leave.”
“I didn’t ask you to stay either.”
Ahri crossed her arms, voice quiet.
“You didn’t have to.”
Silence.
Then, softer, Evelynn murmured:
“I feel like shit.”
“I figured.”
“It’s not just physical.”
“I figured that too.”
Evelynn leaned against the sink, head down.
“I don’t know how to be anything if I’m not that.”
Ahri took a step closer.
“Then let’s figure out who else you can be.”
Evelynn looked at her, sharp.
“And if there’s nothing left?”
Ahri met her gaze — steady, unwavering.
“Then we start from there.”
Evelynn didn’t cry. She doesn't.
But for the first time in years, she didn’t wear anything on her face.
No mask.
No venom.
No grin.
And Ahri still looked at her like she was worth something.
The first forty-eight hours were the worst.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was relentless.
Every inch of Evelynn’s skin felt like it belonged to someone else. Her head throbbed. Her stomach rejected food. Her heartbeat never settled — too fast, too slow, too loud.
And her shadows wouldn’t respond.
They clung to her like static. Sluggish. Detached.
Like even they didn’t know who she was anymore.
She sat under a blanket in her dark room with the curtains drawn and every noise dialed down to zero. She was used to silence — she liked silence — but not when it rang with the ghost of pleasure.
“It’ll pass,” Ahri said gently.
“Don’t lie to me,” Evelynn whispered back. “It doesn’t pass. It just changes shape.”
Ahri didn’t argue.
She just stayed, like always.
Sometimes reading aloud. Sometimes humming under her breath. Sometimes just being there, letting Evelynn come undone in whatever way she needed to.
Day three
Evelynn finally showered.
She stood under the hot water for almost an hour, arms braced against the tile, feeling like her skin was going to peel off.
She didn’t scream.
Didn’t cry.
But when she looked down at her hands — trembling, pale — she felt nothing.
No hunger.
No satisfaction.
Just… void.
That was worse than agony.
That night
Ahri brought broth. Evelynn stared at it like it might bite her.
“You need to eat,” Ahri said.
“I haven’t needed food in years.”
“You’re not feeding off pain anymore.”
Evelynn gave her a look. Sharp. Bitter.
“There’s still plenty of it in here.”
She tapped her temple.
Ahri didn’t flinch.
“Then don’t feed it,” she said softly. “Starve it instead.”
Evelynn looked away.
But she drank half the broth.
And didn’t throw it up.
Progress.
The hardest part wasn’t the cravings.
It was the stillness.
The part of her that once filled rooms — with heat, with fear, with desire — now sat quiet and cornered.
Every time she reached for the thrill, for the high, for the familiar ache… she had to pull her hand back.
And face herself.
“You built a myth,” Ahri said once. “But it’s not all you are.”
“It’s the only part they ever loved.”
“Then maybe they didn’t deserve the rest.”
By the end of the week, the worst of the shakes had faded.
It was Kai’Sa who knocked first.
Late morning.
Evelynn had just managed to eat half a piece of toast and keep it down.
Ahri was curled on the other side of the room with a book, half-listening to the rain tapping the windows.
The knock was soft, followed by the rustle of something being set outside the door.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Kai’Sa’s voice came. “Just… dropping something off.”
Evelynn waited until her footsteps faded.
When she opened the door, a small container sat there, steaming faintly.
Homemade rice porridge. A note taped to the lid:
“For when even breathing feels like work. No pressure.”
— K
Evelynn stared at it for a moment too long.
Then took it inside.
The next day
Akali didn’t knock.
She barged in, hoodie half-on, hair still wet from the rain.
“So are we all just pretending you’re not detoxing in here?”
Evelynn glared, shadows bristling faintly.
“Akali,” Ahri warned.
“No, it’s fine,” Evelynn said, voice hoarse. “Let the girl say what everyone’s thinking.”
Akali crossed her arms.
“I’m not here to shame you,” she said. “I just want to know if you’re actually serious about getting clean. Because if you’re not — then we can’t keep covering for you.”
Evelynn didn’t answer right away.
Then:
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“No, you didn’t,” Akali replied. “But we did it anyway. You’re lucky we love your impossible ass.”
Silence.
Then, softer:
“If you need me… I’m here too. Don’t make Ahri shoulder it all.”
She left without another word.
Evelynn sat still for a long time.
Then whispered:
“I didn’t expect that.”
Ahri just smiled, tired.
“That’s what makes it real.”
That evening
They ate together for the first time in weeks.
All four of them. Around the long kitchen table. The air quiet but warm.
Ahri passed Evelynn a bowl of soup.
Kai’Sa offered her extra pillows for her room.
Akali threw shade at her own clumsy cooking attempt and made Evelynn laugh for the first time in days.
No one said the word addiction.
No one said rehab or withdrawal or are you okay.
They just… let her be Evelynn. Without fangs. Without lashes. Without armor.
And somehow, that felt more dangerous than anything else.
Because they saw her.
And they didn’t run.
The kitchen was quiet now.
Kai’Sa had gone to bed with a soft goodnight and a lingering look.
Akali had disappeared into her studio, headphones already around her neck.
Only Ahri and Evelynn remained.
The empty bowls sat in the sink, untouched for now. A soft hum of the fridge was the only sound as Ahri leaned back in her chair, arms crossed loosely. Evelynn sat across from her, shoulders hunched, a mug of cooling tea cradled in both hands.
No lashes. No lipstick. Her hoodie hung off one shoulder. Shadows still flickered faintly at her back — dull, slow, sleepy.
She looked at Ahri.
And said nothing.
For once, Ahri didn’t fill the silence.
She just looked back — warm, steady, patient.
“They didn’t look at me like I was broken,” Evelynn finally said, voice barely more than breath.
Ahri tilted her head.
“That’s because you’re not.”
Evelynn gave a bitter laugh.
“Not what I used to be either.”
“Good.”
“You think this is good?” she snapped. “You think this — twitchy, sober, useless me — is better? I can barely hold this human facade.”
Ahri was quiet a moment. Then stood and walked around the table.
She didn’t sit beside Evelynn — she knelt.
Soft. Level. In front of her.
She placed her hands gently on Evelynn’s thighs, anchoring her in place.
“I think this version of you is trying. That counts.”
Evelynn looked down at her. Her throat worked around something that didn’t want to come out.
“I feel empty.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how to fill it without something sharp.”
Ahri reached up and placed a hand against Evelynn’s cheek. Cool. Steady.
“Then let’s fill it slow.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then I’ll be here. Until you decide who you want to be.”
Evelynn’s jaw trembled — barely. She clenched it fast.
“You love a monster, you know that?”
Ahri smiled faintly.
“I’ve always loved dangerous things. But I think I love the truth of you more.”
Evelynn looked at her, eyes rimmed red — not from tears. From holding them back.
She leaned forward slowly.
Rested her forehead against Ahri’s.
“Stay?”
“Always.”
They stayed like that for a while — skin to skin, silence thick with everything that didn’t need to be said.
And in that stillness, Evelynn didn’t crave a high.
She just breathed.
And for once, that was enough.