CHAPTER II: THE HOUSEMASTER

Eve wanders the wasteland, lost and alone. Eternal black storms cover the skies. Blood and poison fill the rivers. Millennia of bombardment scar the very surface of the earth.

Determined to find his sister, he embarks on a perilous adventure, uncovering dark truths about the world… and himself.

XI: WASTELAND

Eve drags his feet across the cracked, lifeless ground. The air tastes of ash and metal, burning his throat with every breath. Above him, the sky churns with black clouds, flashing with sickly green lightning that never seems to touch the ground. Winds howl like distant screams, whipping grit into his face.

He stumbles past rivers, their water thick and red like congealed blood, swirling with oily rainbows that reek of death. The earth itself bears deep wounds———craters that stretch endlessly, edges sharp as broken glass. Rusted debris juts out at odd angles, twisted metal monuments to a forgotten war. The land groans beneath his steps as if resenting the weight of another soul.

Eve’s thoughts are heavier than the air. One beat, over and over, filling the hollow in his chest:

“Find Selene. Find Emily.”

He clutches the name like a lifeline, even as the wasteland seems determined to tear it from him.

Eve stops when he sees a statue. Its surface is pitted and scarred, its golden hair dulled to a sickly yellow under the eternal storms. The figure’s bloated body sinks into the sand, its face frozen in a strange, twisted grin. One fat arm juts upward, palm flat, a gesture that seems too deliberate to be random but too absurd to hold meaning.

Nearby, a broken plaque leans against a jagged rock. Its words are worn but still legible:

"We’re going to win so much, we’ll get tired of winning."

Eve snorts.

“Win what, exactly?” he mutters, kicking a loose rock.

It skips across the sand, disappearing into the wasteland that stretches endlessly around him.

Ash drifts like dirty snowflakes. In the distance, jagged mountains pierce the horizon, their peaks shrouded in black smoke. The land itself seems to hum, faint and low like the earth is groaning under the weight of its own ruin.

Eve steps forward, his foot catching on something half-buried. He crouches, pulling at a charred scrap of cloth, its fibers coarse and synthetic. He shakes off the dirt and holds it up to the faint light.

Most of it is burnt, the edges curling inward like dead leaves. But in the middle, a few words remain, bold and red against the blackened fabric:

“…Great Again.”

He frowns, his fingers tightening around the cloth. The words mean nothing to him, and yet… they claw at something just beyond his grasp. He glances back at the statue, its arm still reaching for nothing, before letting the cloth fall to the ground.

“Was it always like this?” he whispers, scanning the miles of scorched land.

The rivers of ash. The lifeless air. “Did the earth start this way? Or did someone do this?”

The statue doesn’t answer. It only stands there, fat and rotting, as if mocking the question. Eve turns away and keeps walking.

He doesn’t notice the faint shift in the sand behind him.

A bush, dry as bone and twisted like a claw, shakes ever so slightly. Then it’s still again. Beneath it, the sand ripples as something massive stirs.

It slides closer, moving in bursts, faster than anything that size should. Its glossy black carapace catches brief flashes of storm light as it disappears beneath the loose earth. Rows of segmented legs churn silently, propelling it forward.

Eve stops, his boot scuffing a flat rock. He looks around, squinting at the barren landscape, sensing something but unsure what. The wind picks up, carrying the faint scent of decay.

Behind him, the ground rises in a subtle, shifting hill. The centipede’s body, endless and slick, slithers up, just out of view. Its antennae twitch, tasting the air. Its mandibles click together softly, a sound too faint for Eve to hear.

He takes a step forward. The centipede takes one closer.

A shriveled bush ahead of him trembles, but this time Eve notices. He freezes. His eyes narrow, scanning the area. His heart pounds in his chest.

“Hello?” he calls, his voice cracking in the stillness.

Nothing answers. The bush stops moving. The wind dies again.

Eve shrugs, chalking it up to his nerves, and turns to keep walking. Behind him, the sand erupts.

The Thousand-Meter-Death-Rattle shoots out of the ground, its massive body unfurling like a nightmare brought to life. Mandibles the size of scythes snap open, gleaming wetly. Its rows of legs ripple in waves, kicking up sand as it lunges forward.

Eve doesn’t see it yet, but the creature is close———too close. And it’s hungry.

The air splits with a horrible screech. Eve spins, too slow, and the centipede slams into him like a battering ram. Its weight is crushing, its segmented body writhing as dozens of legs scrape against his skin. He crashes to the ground, the wind knocked out of him, his head spinning.

The creature rears up, its glistening mandibles snapping inches from his face. They drip with some foul, sticky substance that hisses when it touches the ground.

Eve grabs its mandibles with both hands, holding them back with every ounce of strength he has.

“Weird bugs! I hate weird bugs!” he yells, his voice breaking.

The centipede presses down, its body undulating, pushing him further into the dirt. Its surface is slick, cold, and wrong, like touching rotting leather soaked in oil. The sensation makes his skin crawl, as though tiny bugs are racing under his flesh.

Eve grits his teeth, his arms shaking under the pressure. The mandibles snap closer, close enough for him to feel their rancid breath on his cheeks.

“Not today, you disgusting freak!” he growls.

He shifts his weight, plants his feet against the insect’s body, and pushes with everything he has. The centipede screeches again, a shrill, ear-piercing sound, and he shoves it off.

The creature flops to the side, its many legs flailing helplessly. The ground trembles as it writhes, trying to right itself, its slick segments catching on the uneven ground.

Eve scrambles to his feet, panting, his hands trembling from the effort. He glares at the centipede, his heart pounding so loud it drowns out the distant storm. It wasn’t dead. Not yet. And it wasn’t done with him.

Eve stumbles backward, his chest heaving. The centipede flails on its side, its legs thrashing in a grotesque, jerky rhythm. Its screech cuts through the wasteland air, high and shrill like nails dragged over metal. Eve grabs his head, squeezing his temples. That sound—it’s in his skull, vibrating like it’s crawling through his brain.

“Shut up,” he mutters, barely audible, his voice shaky.

His eyes dart around wildly, desperate. He spots it———a rock. A big, jagged thing, half-buried in the dirt. Without thinking, he lurches toward it.

He grabs the rock with both hands, veins straining in his arms as he lifts it. The weight feels good. Solid. Real. Something he can use. Something to make this stop.

The centipede rolls, its legs scrabbling for purchase, its head swinging wildly. Eve moves before it can right itself, raising the rock high above his head. He steps forward and slams it down with a grunt, aiming for its head.

The impact sends a crack through the air. The centipede twitches violently, but it’s not dead. The insectoid head jerks, ichor oozing from the cracked carapace. Eve feels the spray hit his face, warm and reeking of rot.

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t stop.

“Shut up!” he yells this time, louder, angrier, his voice shaking with rage.

He lifts the rock again, his muscles burning, and slams it down harder.

Another crunch. The head splits further, dark green ooze spilling out in thick, bubbling globs. The legs kick slower now, but they’re still moving. That noise—the screech—still echoes faintly, weaker but there.

Eve’s breathing turns ragged. His vision blurs. The world narrows to the rock, the centipede, and that sound that won’t die.

“Why won’t you die?” he screams, his voice cracking.

He raises the rock again and smashes it down. Over and over. Each blow splatters more ichor across the dirt and his hands. The centipede's body spasms once, and twice, and then goes limp.

But Eve doesn’t stop. Not yet. His arms move on their own, the rock rising and falling, pounding the already pulped head into the ground.

The screech is gone now, replaced by the wet, squelching thuds of the rock meeting flesh and bone.

Finally, the rock slips from his blood-slick hands. It thuds to the ground. Eve stares at the mess in front of him, his chest heaving. His hands tremble, coated in green-black ichor and bits of what used to be the centipede’s head.

He stumbles back, his knees weak.

“I had to,” he whispers, his voice hollow. His eyes don’t leave the mangled remains. “It wouldn’t stop. I had to.”

He falls to his knees, clutching his head. The silence around him feels deafening now, pressing in like a weight. The storm rumbles faintly in the distance, but all he hears is the sound of his own ragged breathing.

XII: CELLAR

Eve stumbles across the barren wasteland. Each step feels heavier than the last. His legs feel like lead. The wind hits his face and stings his skin. Grit blows into his eyes.

His stomach twists. It’s been so long since he ate.

He glances at the horizon and squints. There’s nothing but endless gray and brown. He tells himself the village must be close. It has to be. But deep down, he knows he has no idea where he’s going.

His feet drag through the dirt, kicking up small clouds of dust. The hunger in his stomach turns into a dull ache. It spreads through his chest and arms. He clenches his fists. His cracked, bloodied hands shake.

“Keep walking,” he mutters under his breath. His voice is hoarse, barely audible over the howling wind.

The ground tilts under him——or maybe it’s just his legs giving up. He stumbles and staggers a few paces ahead. He catches himself and takes a few more steps. But his vision blurs. The edges of everything go dark. His knees give out and he hits the ground hard, face-first in the dirt.

He groans and rolls over onto his back. The sky above is a swirl of black clouds and faint, flickering lightning. His eyelids twitch, but they keep drooping. He blinks fast, trying to stay awake.

Shapes move in the distance, shadows against the storm. They grow closer, taking form. Blurry figures———too blurry to make out. His head lolls to the side.

“Who…” he tries to say, but the word barely escapes his lips.

The figures close in, their voices faint and muffled, like hearing through water. And then, darkness…

Eve’s eyes snap open. A rough ceiling greets him, wooden beams sagging with age. He blinks, disoriented. His body feels like it’s made of stone. Heavy. Sore. He turns his head, wincing at the stiffness in his neck.

The room is dim, lit by a single lantern on a nearby table. He’s lying on a cot, the rough fabric itching against his skin. He pushes himself up slightly, but the sudden wave of dizziness forces him to stop.

“Don’t sit up too fast!” a small voice says, startling him.

He looks over and sees a little girl, no older than eight or nine, standing beside the bed. Her round face is smudged with dirt, but her eyes are bright and curious. She holds out a chipped ceramic cup filled with water.

“Here,” she says, offering it to him.

Eve takes the cup with shaky hands, bringing it to his lips. The cool water slides down his throat, easing the dryness. He drinks greedily, almost spilling it on himself.

“Not too much. You’ll get sick,” the girl giggles softly.

He lowers the cup, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Where…” His voice is raspy, barely there. “Where am I?”

“In the cellar,” she says. “You passed out. They brought you here.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

The girl shrugs, brushing her messy hair out of her face.

“You should rest,” she says instead, her tone gentle but firm. “You’re not strong enough to get up yet.”

Eve leans back against the cot, exhaustion pulling at him. His head pounds, but questions swirl in his mind. For now, though, he can’t fight the weariness. He closes his eyes, clutching the empty cup like a lifeline.

The lantern on the table flickers. Shadows move across the cracked stone walls. Wooden beams crisscross above him. They are old and warped. Their surfaces are rough and splintered.

In the corner, mismatched crates are stacked high. They lean, ready to fall. Their sides are stained and worn.

The air smells of damp mildew. Rusty tools hang from bent nails on a wall. An old hammer. A twisted saw. Something that may have been a farming tool once.

The cot creaks as Eve hauls his body to a more comfortable position. The thin mattress barely softens the hard frame beneath him.

A narrow shelf sits nearby. It’s cluttered with jars. Inside are unrecognizable things———cloudy liquids, dried herbs, and tiny bones. One jar catches the light. Eve sees something inside. It’s twisted. Grotesque. He quickly looks away.

The floor is hard and uneven. Dirt is packed down, cold against his bare feet. Eve winces. He looks over at the door. It’s old and wooden. The edges are splintered. The hinges are rusty.

The girl steps toward it. Her little feet make soft thuds on the ground. Her shadow stretches across the floor. She stops by the door and pushes it open just a crack.

She pauses, one hand on the door.

“I’ll be back,” she says softly.

The door creaks as she pulls it open. The sound bounces off the walls. She steps out and shuts it behind her. The thud feels heavier than it should.

Eve sits alone in the strange quiet. The sound of water dripping echoes from far away. It’s steady but not the same each time.

He rubs his hands together. His fingers feel rough and dry. His throat burns for water. He looks at the door.

"Where did she go?" he mutters.

Eve leans back on the creaking cot. He stares at the lantern. The light flickers softly on the stone walls. But it doesn’t help. His mind drifts back. Back to the night before everything fell apart.

He sees Selene. Her face glows in the candlelight. She had been quiet that night. More than usual. Her hands shook as she brushed his hair from his face. Her eyes stayed on his. Longer than necessary.

He remembers her soft but firm voice.

"I'll do what I have to," she had said.

He hadn’t understood then. He thought she was nervous about the ceremony. But now... now it all felt different.

Now, lying there in the damp, quiet cellar, Eve’s stomach churns. Something about that night feels sharper in his mind now, like a knife scraping against bone. He shifts on the cot, his back brushing against the rough fabric.

The tattoo.

It doesn’t glow anymore.

He presses a hand to the small of his back as if expecting the mark to spark to life, to burn faintly like it used to. But there’s nothing. Just the faint ache of his muscles and the memory of that strange warmth that had always been there since he’d gotten the mark.

The realization hits him like a blow to the chest. In the chaos, he hadn’t noticed. He’d been too busy running, surviving, grieving. But now, in this quiet, it’s impossible to ignore.

“Selene…” he whispers to himself. “What did you do?”

Selene.

Did she do something?

She had held him close that night. She’d whispered words he couldn’t quite hear, her lips near his ear. Her hand had lingered on his back, right over the tattoo.

Had she tampered with it?

She had to have tampered with it somehow. It wasn’t just gone—it was silenced. That mark wasn’t just a status; it was everything. It tied him to the village, to the priesthood, to Him.

He presses his fingers over the mark, willing it to spark back to life. But there’s nothing. No hum, no glow. Just cold skin.

Did she do it to protect him? Or was it something else? A sacrifice of her own, maybe?

But why? And at what cost?

Eve clenches his fist. The questions pile up in his mind, but there are no answers. Only the memory of her face, determined and desperate. Only the haunting thought that whatever she did, she had done it for him.

And now, he might never see her again to ask why.

He sits up on the cot, staring at the door where the little girl had disappeared. He grips the edge of the bed, his heart pounding.

“Selene… What did you do?”

XIII: HOUSEMASTER

The door creaks open, and the little girl steps inside again. She holds a tray with something that smells warm and inviting. Behind her is a big man. He’s round, his belly jiggling a bit when he moves. He grins as he walks in, his hands stretched wide.

"Ah, you must be Eve!" he says in a booming voice. “Welcome to my humble home!”

He claps his hands together like he's proud of something. The little girl steps aside, and the man waddles in, filling the doorway. His smile is wide, and his eyes twinkle with energy.

"Call me Housemaster," he says. "This here’s my place, and now it’s yours too!"

A few heads peek through the crack of the door behind him. Their faces are quiet. They watch him carefully. There’s no excitement, just curiosity in their eyes.

The Housemaster waves at them. "Come on in! Let’s give our new friend a proper welcome."

The kids hesitate, looking at each other, then step closer to the door. They’re all different ages, some small like the girl, others bigger. They stand in a half-circle around Eve, just looking.

"Don't be shy!" The Housemaster chuckles, patting Eve on the back. "They’re just figuring out what kind of child you are, that’s all."

One of the older kids, a boy with a dirty face, steps forward. “Are you… staying here?” he asks quietly.

Eve nods, still sitting on the cot. “I guess so.”

The boy doesn’t smile, but he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

Another kid, a girl with tangled hair, speaks up. “You look like you’ve been through a lot.”

Eve doesn’t answer. He just looks down at his hands.

The Housemaster grins even wider. “That’s the spirit! We all have our stories, don’t we? But we’re a family here. And families help each other. Right, kids?”

The kids mumble quietly, some nodding.

The Housemaster hands Eve the tray that the little girl brought in. “Here’s something to eat, Eve. You need it. Rest up. You’re safe here.” He pats Eve’s shoulder again.

Eve takes the tray, but he still feels the weight of the silence in the room. The kids are watching him, waiting. He doesn’t know if it’s curiosity or something else. Either way, he knows the Housemaster is right about one thing.

For now, at least, this is home.

The Housemaster claps his hands again. “Come on, Eve. Time to get up. I’ll show you around the place!”

Eve stands slowly, feeling a little shaky. The Housemaster leads him out of the room. The air smells a bit musty, but it’s better than the wasteland.

They step into a big hallway. The floor creaks under their feet. The walls are covered in faded wallpaper, peeling at the corners. The dim light from the windows barely makes it through the dust on the glass.

“This place’s a little old,” the Housemaster says, grinning. “But it’s got charm, don’t you think?”

Eve looks around. The hallway stretches far, with doors leading off into different rooms. Some of the doors are half-open, showing rooms full of old furniture, broken shelves, and dusty curtains. There’s a staircase at the far end that looks like it leads up to more rooms, but the stairs are cracked and uneven.

The Housemaster walks ahead, pointing at things. “Over there’s the kitchen. Not much, but we make do. And down that hall is the common room. It’s where we hang out, play games, you know, all that fun stuff.”

He walks past a few more rooms. Some are full of old, rusty furniture. Others look like they haven’t been used in years. There’s a strange smell, like old wood and something else Eve can’t place.

The walls are covered in paintings. Most are faded and cracked. Some show faces Eve doesn’t recognize, others are just weird shapes and colors. The Housemaster stops in front of one.

“This here’s my favorite,” he says, gesturing at a painting of a tall, dark mountain. “It’s a good reminder. Keeps me going.”

Eve stares at it. The mountain looks huge and lonely. It doesn’t feel like a good reminder. It feels... empty.

They keep walking. The floorboards creak under their weight. They pass by a room full of crates, stacked high with stuff Eve doesn’t want to know about.

They stop in front of a door at the end of the hall. The Housemaster opens it.

“This is where you’ll stay,” he says. “Nice and quiet. Just you and your thoughts.”

Eve steps inside. The room is bigger than the one he woke up in. There’s a bed in the corner, a small desk by the window, and a few more boxes. The window is cracked, but the view outside isn’t much. Just more of the wasteland, stretching on forever.

The Housemaster slaps Eve’s back. “Make yourself at home. You’ll get used to it.”

Eve nods. He doesn’t know if he will. He doesn’t know if he ever will.

The Housemaster claps his hands. “Alright, kids. Make sure Eve’s bed is ready for him. Make him comfortable.”

A couple of the kids nod and quickly get to work. They smooth out the blankets and tuck in the corners. One of them fluffs the pillow, and another places a small cloth at the foot of the bed. They work quickly like they’ve done this before.

“There you go, Eve,” the Housemaster says. “All set. Rest up. You’ve had a rough day.”

Eve nods, too tired to say anything. He slides onto the bed, letting the soft blankets surround him. The bed feels like nothing he’s ever slept on before, soft and warm. But it doesn’t feel like home.

The Housemaster looks at the kids. “Alright, that’s enough. Let Eve rest. We’ll be back later.”

The kids shuffle out of the room, casting curious glances at Eve. The Housemaster follows them, shutting the door behind him. The room falls into silence.

Eve lies there, staring at the ceiling. The darkness feels heavy around him, pressing in from all sides. He curls under the blankets, trying to find comfort, but it doesn’t come.

He thinks of the village. The village he can barely remember now. He can still see it in his mind———the dusty streets, the stone houses, the people. But the faces blur, like the memories are slipping through his fingers.

He remembers Emily’s soft and warm voice telling him bedtime stories. She’d always make him laugh with her funny voice, making even the scariest stories sound safe. He remembers how she used to sit by his bed, brushing his hair, humming softly as he drifted asleep.

A lump forms in his throat, tight and painful. His chest feels heavy.

He buries his face in the pillow, trying to hide the tears that come. He doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t want to remember. But the memories are too strong.

His pillow soaks up the tears as they fall. His breathing gets harder, and his whole body shakes.

It feels like everything’s falling apart. His family, the village, the life he knew. All of it. Gone.

The darkness in the room doesn’t help. It feels like the world has disappeared, leaving him in a place that isn’t real. But the tears keep coming, soaking the pillow, and all Eve can do is cry… alone.

XIV: ORPHANAGE

The next morning, Eve walks outside his room and heads down the hallway, his feet dragging a little. The common room is loud with laughter and chatter. Kids crowd around the table, plates clinking and crumbs scattered. A pair of boys race toy cars across the floor while someone hums a tune in the corner.

Then Eve walks in. The noise stops. Everyone looks at him for a moment. Some kids look away quickly.

A boy with messy hair stands up. He holds out a bowl of porridge. “Here,” he says. “You can have this.”

Eve hesitates. He takes the bowl, muttering “Thanks” under his breath. He walks to the far end of the table and sits down.

The noise starts up again but it’s different now. It’s quieter. Like everyone is trying to pretend he isn’t there.

A little blonde girl stares at him from the other side of the table. Her blue eyes are wide. She tilts her head.

“You’re not like the others,” she says. “I’ve never seen a girl like you before.”

Eve looks at her. He blinks, surprised.

“I’m not a girl,” he says, his voice quiet.

The little girl squints innocently. “But why do you look like one?”

Eve feels his face get hot. He doesn’t know what to say. Why does she think that? He looks down at the porridge in his hands. He stirs it but doesn’t eat.

The girl waits, her eyes still on him. She seems curious but not mean.

Eve shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he says. It’s all he can think of.

Later that day, Eve stands in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. The bathroom is quiet, the only sound is the soft echo of his breathing.

He looks at himself closely. His hair is long———blonde, almost reaching his shoulders. It’s soft and messy, falling around his face like strands of golden silk. He brushes a lock behind his ear, feeling how light and fine it is.

His skin is smooth, and tight over his bones. It’s pale and almost flawless, like porcelain. He runs his fingers over his cheeks. They’re soft, almost too soft. His face isn’t sharp. It’s round, with high, delicate cheekbones. His lips are full and gently curved, not at all like the faces of the boys he remembers. His eyes are wide and clear, framed by long, light lashes that flicker in the daylight.

He blinks, staring at the reflection. There’s nothing rough about him. No stubble or harsh angles. His face has a softness to it, a gentleness that feels... out of place. His chest feels lighter, thinner. He feels small.

Eve pulls at the collar of his dress, suddenly aware of how the fabric hangs on his shoulders, not like it would on a boy’s body. He sighs.

His heart races as he stares deeper into his reflection, not recognizing the face that looks back at him.

A knock rattles the bathroom door. Eve flinches, his gaze snapping from the mirror.

“Hurry up! I gotta pee!” a little voice says.

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Eve opens the door. A girl with pigtails stands there, bouncing on her toes. She gives him a quick glare.

“Finally!” she says, rushing past him and slamming the door shut.

Eve shakes his head and turns toward the hallway. The smell of earth and flowers drifts in from the open garden door.

He steps outside.

Rows of bright flowers line crooked stone paths. Bees buzz lazily over clusters of wild lavender. A few kids dart between the groves. Their laughter rang out like little bells. One boy climbs a gnarled trunk, his legs dangling as he calls to the others. The air smells like damp soil and fresh apples, the scent wrapping around him.

Eve spots an old tree on the edge of the garden. Its roots jut from the ground like the claws of some ancient beast. He lowers himself to the grass and leans back against the bark. The shade cools his skin. But his chest feels tight as he watches the others play.

“Mind if I join you?”

Eve looks up. The Housemaster stands there, his hands tucked behind his back. His round belly stretches his shirt, and his grin is warm but cautious.

“Okay,” Eve nods.

The Housemaster settles beside him with a grunt, groaning as he stretches his legs. He pulls a shiny red apple from behind his back.

“Picked this earlier,” he says, holding it out. “It’s good.”

“Thanks,” Eve takes the fruit.

His fingers brush against the apple’s smooth surface.

They eat in silence for a while. The crunch of the apples blends with the distant laughter of the kids. A soft breeze rustles the leaves overhead.

“You’ve been quiet since you got here,” the Housemaster says as he pulls another apple from behind him. He takes another bite, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where were you before we found you?”

Eve stares at his half-eaten apple. A bee hovers close, and he swats it away. “A village,” he says finally. “I lived there with my sister. And my mom.”

The Housemaster nods, chewing slowly. “What happened?”

Eve’s fingers tighten on the apple. The skin splits, and juice drips down his hand. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, his voice flat.

The Housemaster watches him for a moment and places his hand on Eve’s delicate shoulder. Then he leans back against the tree.

“Well,” he says quietly, “you’re safe here.”

Eve doesn’t reply. His gaze drifts to the kids running and laughing, their joy a world away. The apple sits heavy in his hand, forgotten.

The grass feels cool against his fingers as he watches the other kids dart around the garden. He keeps his distance, his heart heavy and his thoughts a muddle.

“Hey.”

A voice startles him. Eve looks up and sees a boy standing there. He’s tall, maybe older than the others, with messy brown hair that catches the sunlight. His innocent eyes seem to sparkle as he grins down at Eve.

“You’re the new kid, right?” the boy says.

Eve nods, swallowing hard. His throat feels dry all of a sudden.

“I’m Adam,” the boy says, crouching down. “We’re playing hide and seek. You wanna join us?”

Eve’s cheeks burn. He looks down, picking at the grass. “I-I don’t know,” he mutters.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Adam says. He reaches out and grabs Eve’s hand, tugging gently.

His grip is warm and firm. Eve’s face blushes. His heart feels like it’s trying to leap out of his chest.

“I guess… okay,” Eve says, barely audible.

Adam’s grin widens.

“Great!” He stands, still holding Eve’s hand, and pulls him up.

Eve stumbles a little, but Adam steadies him.

“Don’t be shy, Eve,” the Housemaster calls from nearby, his voice kind but firm. “Go play with the others. It’s good for you.”

Eve glances back at the Housemaster, then at Adam. Adam’s hand is still wrapped around his, and Eve feels like his whole face must be as red as the apples in the garden.

“This way!” Adam says, leading him toward the others. Eve’s steps are hesitant, but Adam’s energy is infectious.

Eve keeps sneaking glances at Adam as they walk, his stomach doing little flips. He feels ridiculous. His palms feel sweaty, and he hopes Adam doesn’t notice.

When they reach the group, Adam lets go of his hand to point out the seeker. Eve flexes his fingers, feeling the absence of Adam’s touch like a tiny ache.

“Alright, let’s hide!” Adam says. He turns to Eve with that same bright grin. “Stick with me, okay?”

Eve nods again, his words caught somewhere in his throat. For the first time in a long while, his heart feels something other than sadness.

Laughter fills the garden as Eve darts between bushes. He holds his breath, trying not to make a sound. Eve’s heart pounds as he hears footsteps getting closer.

“I see you!” The seeker shouts, jumping out from behind a tree.

Eve squeals and runs, his legs moving faster than he thought possible. The seeker is right behind him, laughing. Eve twists around a corner and dives behind a low wall. His chest heaves as he tries to keep quiet.

The game goes on until the sun dips lower. They switch to tag. Eve runs until his legs ache, but he smiles the whole time. The seeker tags him, and he chases another boy across the wide lawn. Everyone is laughing, their voices resonant.

Later, they climb trees near the edge of the garden. Adam grabs a branch and swings up easily. Eve struggles but keeps going, his fingers gripping the rough bark.

“Here!” Adam calls from above. He tosses an apple down to Eve.

Eve catches it and takes a bite. The juice runs down his chin, and he wipes it away with his sleeve. The others laugh and pick apples too, tossing them down to the kids still on the ground.

When the sky starts turning orange, they climb down. Eve flops onto the grass, exhausted. The others do the same, their arms spread wide.

“Look,” a girl says, pointing up.

Eve tilts his head back. The sky blazes with color, streaks of pink and gold stretching across the horizon. He breathes deeply, the cool evening air filling his lungs.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Adam says, lying next to him.

Eve nods. His legs are sore, and his hands are scratched from the tree bark. But for the first time in forever, he feels like he belongs. The warmth of the setting sun touches his face, and he smiles softly.

A sharp bell rings through the air, breaking the calm of the evening. Eve sits up from the grass as the kids around him start to scramble.

“Dinner time!” someone yells, and they all rush toward the mansion.

Eve follows the crowd, his stomach already rumbling. Inside, the common room is full of life and noise. Wooden beams line the ceiling above. Their dark surfaces are polished smooth. A long table stretches through the middle of the room. Its surface is covered in scratches and stains that tell stories of countless meals and endless antics. Mismatched chairs line both sides, their legs wobbling on the uneven stone floor.

The smell hits Eve before he even sits down. It’s rich and savory, with a hint of something buttery. His mouth waters as an older boy appears from a side door, carrying a tray piled high with steaming meat pies. The boy places them down with a grin, and the kids cheer.

“Grab one before they’re gone!” someone shouts.

Eve hesitates, but Adam nudges him forward. He picks up a pie, its crust golden and flaky. The heat warms his hands as he sits down at the far end of the table.

The first bite melts in his mouth. The crust is buttery and crisp, crumbling with every chew. Inside, the filling bursts with flavor———chunks of tender meat, rich gravy, and soft vegetables all mingling together. Eve eats slowly, savoring every Laughter and chatter drone all around him. Kids lean over the table, talking with their mouths full.

Eve glances up. The flickering light from a chandelier made of old wagon wheels forms dancing shadows on the stone walls. Shelves line the edges of the room, crammed with books, toys, and random trinkets. It feels chaotic, but also comforting.

XV: PLAYTIME

Laughter bounces off the walls. Kids dart between the rooms. Their footsteps are loud and quick. Some chased fluffy pets that yipped and scurried under furniture. Others tumble in the sunlit fields outside, their faces smeared with dirt and wide grins.

The smell of fresh bread drifts through the air. Roasting meat and warm vegetables makes the house feel alive. Eve sits at the long wooden table. A bowl of hot stew warms his hands.

The mattress last night felt soft. The blanket was heavy and warm. For the first time in ages, Eve didn’t wake up afraid.

Eve stands in the garden, scanning the groups of kids scattered around. Laughter bounces through the air, but Adam is nowhere in sight. Eve’s chest tightens as he looks closer. A few of the children glance his way but quickly look down or turn their backs. He frowns, his fists clenching for a moment, then relaxes.

He walks to the kitchen. The familiar sound of clinking dishes greets him. The sink is full. He grabs a rag and starts scrubbing a plate, focusing on the soap suds swirling down the drain.

“Adam?” His voice is quiet, but it echoes in the stillness. He looks over his shoulder.

Instead of Adam, the Housemaster fills the doorway, his usual warm smile beaming.

“Not here, I’m afraid,” he says, stepping into the room. “Need a hand with those?”

Eve hesitates. He looks back at the stack of dishes.

“I can do it.”

The Housemaster chuckles and rolls up his sleeves.

“No harm in letting me help.” He picks up a dish and a sponge.

He starts to work beside Eve. The room fills with the sound of scrubbing and running water.

Eve side-eyes him, unsure what to say. He keeps scrubbing.

“So,” the Housemaster begins, his tone light, “how are you settling in? Starting to feel like home yet?”

Eve shrugs.

“It’s fine,” he says, keeping his eyes on the plate in his hands. “It’s better than... other places.”

“Other places, hmm?” The Housemaster raises an eyebrow, his hands still working. “You’ve had a rough journey, haven’t you?”

Eve doesn’t answer right away. He scrubs harder at a stubborn spot of grease.

“I guess,” he says finally.

The Housemaster nods, not pressing. “You’re doing good, you know,” he says softly. “One day at a time.”

Eve glances at him, unsure if he believes it. But the words sit in the air, strangely comforting. He doesn’t say anything more, just keeps scrubbing. The Housemaster works quietly beside him, matching his pace.

Eve dries his hands on his shirt and steps out of the kitchen. The house is quieter now, most of the kids are scattered in their own corners. He heads to the common room, scanning the shelves for something to read. His fingers graze the spines of old, worn books when giggles rise behind him.

“Eve!” a girl calls.

He turns and sees a small group of girls, their eyes bright and mischievous. The tallest one, with a mess of curly red hair, grins at him. “Come with us!”

“What for?” Eve asks, narrowing his eyes.

“You’ll see,” another says, tugging on his sleeve. She’s smaller, with freckles that cover her nose. “It’s fun. Trust us!”

Before he can say no, they’re pulling him along. They lead him up a narrow staircase that creaks with every step. Dust swirls in the dim light coming through cracks in the wooden walls. They push open a heavy door, and Eve steps into the attic.

The room feels like a forgotten treasure chest. Sunlight streams through a tiny round window, catching the dust in the air. Old trunks sit in scattered piles, spilling over with fabric and costumes. Cobwebs cling to the wooden beams, and the floorboards creak under their weight.

One of the girls throws open a trunk, and a rainbow of clothes bursts out. Glittery dresses, feather boas, floppy hats, and patched coats tumble onto the floor.

“Look at this!” the freckled girl says, holding up a sequined gown that’s missing half its sequins.

Another girl, with sleek black hair tied in pigtails, pulls out a giant sunhat and puts it on. It wobbles on her head.

“Perfect, right?” she says, striking a pose.

Eve crosses his arms and looks at them. “You do this for fun?”

The red-haired girl tosses a boa over his shoulders. “Of course! Now try something on!”

Eve sighs but steps closer to a pile of clothes. He pulls out a jacket that’s too big and covered in mismatched buttons. He slips it on, and the girls cheer.

“That’s it!” the freckled girl says, clapping her hands.

They all dig through the clothes, trying on ridiculous outfits. One of the girls spins in a poofy pink dress with lace that’s coming undone. Another balances a pair of oversized shoes and pretends to stumble.

Eve finds himself smiling as he pulls a velvet cape over his shoulders. It smells like dust and something sweet, like old candy. The girls laugh and twirl, their voices filling the attic with energy.

The attic doesn’t feel so dusty or forgotten for a moment. It bursts with colors and laughter. Eve adjusts the cape and lets himself enjoy it.

The girls plop down in a circle on the creaky attic floor, their ridiculous outfits crinkling and puffing as they settle. Eve sits between the freckled girl, who’s still wearing her oversized sunhat, and the red-haired girl, who now sports a sparkling scarf tied around her head like a crown.

“Pattycake!” the freckled girl announces, slapping her hands on her knees.

“Pattycake?” Eve raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” The girl grins. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to play.”

“I know how,” Eve mumbles, crossing his arms over the dusty velvet cape he’s still wearing.

The red-haired girl claps her hands, the sparkling rings she found jingling on her fingers. “Then let’s see it!”

Eve sighs, but when the freckled girl thrusts her hands toward him, he hesitates only for a moment. Their palms meet, clapping once, then twice, before they start a rhythm.

“Pattycake, pattycake, baker’s man!” the freckled girl sings, her voice high and cheerful.

“Bake me a cake as fast as you can!” the pigtail girl chimes in, clapping along with another girl.

Eve messes up halfway through, slapping the wrong hand. The girls burst into laughter, and he felt his cheeks warm.

“Hey, you’re supposed to help me!” Eve says, laughing despite himself.

“You’re hopeless!” the freckled girl teases, sticking out her tongue.

“Let’s do it again,” Eve says, this time determined.

The rhythm picks up as they clap faster, their mismatched outfits bouncing and rustling with every movement. The sunhat slips over the freckled girl’s eyes, and the red-haired girl’s sparkling scarf unravels as she doubles over with laughter.

Eventually, they all collapse onto the floor in a heap, their ridiculous costumes a mess of fabric and color. Eve’s cape is tangled with someone’s glittery dress, and the pigtail girl’s oversized shoes stick out at a funny angle.

The attic permeates with the sound of their giggles, echoing off the wooden beams and through the dust-filled light. Eve leans back on his hands, his heart racing from the fun.

A sharp clang of the bell rings through the halls. The kids freeze mid-laugh, and their games are forgotten. They rush toward the common room like a herd, their excitement filling the air. Eve follows slowly, curious.

The Housemaster stands by the long wooden table, a big grin on his face. His hands hold a small basket covered with a cloth.

“Gather around, sl————— children,” he says, his voice warm. “Today’s a special treat.”

The kids press closer, their eyes wide. He pulls back the cloth with a flourish. Inside, bright candied fruits and chunks of chocolate gleam like treasure.

“Found these while scavenging,” he says, holding up a shiny red piece. “Been saving them just for you.”

The children cheer, their voices echoing in the room. Eve can’t help but smile as the Housemaster hands out the sweets. The candied fruit glistens in the dim light, its sticky surface catching every flicker. The chocolate is dark and rough, broken into uneven pieces.

When Eve gets his share, he hesitates. The fruit feels tacky in his fingers, its sweet smell almost too strong. He takes a bite, the flavor bursting in his mouth.

Eve sits at the edge of the table, his hands still sticky from the candied fruit. He picks at a small piece of chocolate, the dark squares breaking easily between his fingers. His mind drifts, the faint smell of sweet cocoa filling the air.

"Hey, Eve," Adam says, appearing at his side with a grin. His hands hold a chocolate bar, already partly unwrapped. "Want to share?"

Eve looks up, startled. Adam's gray eyes are bright with amusement, and his smile is so easy, so natural. It makes Eve feel warm. He hesitates, then nods, unable to refuse the offer.

Adam breaks the chocolate bar in half and hands one piece to Eve. Their fingers brush for a moment. Eve’s breath catches. He quickly looks down, feeling his face heat up.

They sit together in silence for a while, breaking off small pieces of chocolate. Eve can’t help but notice how close Adam is. How his presence fills the space between them. Adam eats his piece slowly, savoring it. Eve mimics him, but every time he glances at Adam, his heart skips a beat.

"Good, right?" Adam asks, glancing over at Eve. His voice is low and soft.

Eve nods, swallowing the last bite. "Yeah, it's really good."

Adam's gaze lingers on him for a moment longer, his smile deepening. Eve quickly looks away, feeling the heat in his cheeks spread.

They sit quietly, sharing the chocolate, but it feels like something more. Every small movement, every glance between them feels like an unspoken connection. Eve's stomach flutters, and he wonders if Adam feels it too.

The moment stretches, heavy and sweet like the chocolate in their mouths.

XVI: SOMETHING FEELS WRONG

Hours melt into days. The days melt into a week. The house feels more like home now. Eve wakes up each morning to the sound of laughter from the other kids as well as the warm sun pouring through the windows. It’s strange, this peace. He’s still unsure how to feel about it, but for now, it’s enough. He even starts to forget what it was like before, the weight of the wasteland, the hunger, the endless loneliness. Here, he feels... safe.

But after a while, things start to change.

It happens during tag. Eve runs after a girl with dark hair and freckles. He reaches out to tag her. She dodges fast. Her eyes meet his for a moment. Wide. Scared. Then she sprints away. A cold shiver runs down his back. He doesn’t know why it feels wrong.

The next day, he tries to join hide-and-seek. A group of boys stands in a circle. Eve walks over. They glance at him, their faces blank. No one speaks. Then they scatter, running off without a word. Eve stops in his tracks. His chest tightens. Maybe it’s nothing.

At dinner, Eve sits at the long table. Laughter echoes around him. It feels different now. Like he’s not part of it. He glances at the kids next to him. Some catch his eye. They look away fast. A few even turn their backs.

“Hey, you okay?” Adam nudges Eve.

“Yeah. Just tired, I guess,” Eve forces a nod.

The unease lingers, he feels his stomach twisting. Eve doesn’t know how to shake it.

By the end of the week, the house feels colder. Quieter. The kids talk in whispers. Their eyes flick toward Eve when they think he’s not looking. Some won’t even look at him at all. When he walks into a room, conversations stop. They avoid him.

Eve feels it every time he walks into a room. He doesn’t know what’s changed or why. He feels it in his chest. A cold and empty feeling that he can’t explain.

No one tells him anything. No one says why they’re acting this way. And Eve, still unsure of his place here, can only sit and wonder what he’s done wrong.

Eve walks down the hallway. His footsteps tap against the floor. He gets close to his door. Then he hears footsteps. Fast. Behind him. He turns around. Adam runs toward him, looking nervous.

Adam grabs his hand. His grip is firm, urgent.

"You have to get out of this place. We can’t stay here," Adam says with a low voice.

"Why?" Eve asks, blinking.

Before Adam can say anything, the Housemaster appears at the end of the hall.

His voice cuts through the air.

“Adam!”

Adam’s head snaps down. His eyes widen. He steps back.

“Yes, Housemaster,” he replies, his voice small, scared. “I... I’ll go back to my room now.”

Adam’s hand slips from Eve’s. Eve watches him walk away, his shoulders hunched. The sound of his footsteps fades.

Eve turns slowly and walks to his room. He opens the door. The room is quiet. He turns the candlelight off, leaving everything in darkness. The shadows stretch across the walls. Eve stands still for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. He lies down on the bed. The darkness wraps around him like a blanket.

XVII: EVE… ASLEEP

Eve’s sleeveless nightgown snugs to his shapely frame. The pale fabric drapes softly over his petite body and stops just above his knees. Thin straps rest on his shoulders, showing the gentle line of his collarbones. His skin looks smooth and glows faintly in the dim light. The edges of the hem brush his legs as he moves.

His waist is slim. The gown hugs around his hips and flows loosely past his thighs. His blonde hair falls in waves just shy of his shoulders, giving him an almost dreamlike look. Freckles scatter across the bridge of his nose, adding a touch of youth to his face.

He shifts in bed. His chest rises and falls slowly. There’s a softness to him, but his posture hints at something stronger underneath. His fingers play with the hem of the gown, like he’s unsure if the fabric feels strange or comforting.

XVIII: THE HOUSEMASTER’S TRUE FACE

Eve wakes to a strange pressure on his chest. Blinking groggily, he found the Housemaster kneeling over him. Before he can move, the Housemaster’s cold hands press down on his shoulders, pinning him to the bed. The man's usual warm smile was gone, replaced by a hollow, voracious look.

He hushed Eve softly.

“Shh,” the Housemaster’s voice is too close, dripping with false reassurance. “It’ll be alright.” His breath is warm against Eve’s ear.

“No! No, please!” Eve screams, struggling beneath the weight of the man. His heart races. He pushes, and thrashes, but the Housemaster’s grip is unyielding.

“Your screams won’t help you,” the Housemaster commands. “Don’t wake the others.”

Eve fights harder, but it’s no use. The room spins… he can’t catch his breath. His body trembles as the Housemaster looms over him like a predator. His eyes burn with tears, but the words catch in his throat.

----------------------------------------

When Eve finally comes to his senses, he lays in his bed… tears streaming down his face. He feels small and broken. The world seems to shrink around him. It’s cold and terrifying. Eve curls into himself in the corner of the room. The cold floor presses against his bare skin. He pulls his knees close to his chest, and his arms wrap tightly around his legs. He can’t stop shaking. The tears fall freely. His body shakes. But there’s no sound.

The door creaks open.

Eve doesn’t look up.

A soft voice breaks the silence. “Eve?”

He sees a shadow step into his space. It’s one of the kids———

a girl with wild, tangled brown hair. She kneels beside him, her eyes soft with concern. Two other kids follow, a boy with a thin face and a girl holding a ragged doll.

“You’re safe now,” the boy says, sitting next to Eve. “We’re here.”

The girl places a hand on Eve’s shoulder.

“The Housemaster’s bad, but we have to stay. It’s the only place with food and a roof over our heads. We’re lucky. But... we’ll stick together.” Her voice is gentle, but there’s something firm beneath it like she’s had to say it too many times before. “We always have each other. We are all we have…”

Eve feels the warmth of their presence, like a shield against the cold. His chest still aches, but their words sink in slowly.

“We’ve all been here for so long,” the boy says, his voice low but steady. “He’s cruel, but we’ve learned how to survive. As long as we’re together, we’ll make it through.”

Eve nods, though the pain in his chest doesn’t go away. They sit with him in silence for a long time, the only sound the soft creak of the house settling around them.

----------------------------------------

The air in the house feels heavier the next morning. The Housemaster stands in the doorway, his face stern and cold. His voice cuts through the room like a sword.

"Up! Get to work!" he snaps, his gaze sweeping over the children.

The warmth of the morning sun does nothing to soften the bite of his words. One by one, the children get up, their faces blank, some still rubbing sleep from their eyes. Eve watches them move mechanically like they’ve done this a thousand times before. The Housemaster’s smile is gone, replaced by a tight frown.

Outside, the farm fields stretch on for miles, the dirt caked under Eve’s fingernails as he picks at the soil to plant seeds. The sun beats down hard on his neck, the sweat dripping down his back, but it doesn’t stop. No one stops. Not when the Housemaster is near.

A boy stumbles, his knees buckling as he tries to lift a heavy bucket of water. The Housemaster’s eyes flash, and in a heartbeat, he’s there, grabbing the boy by the arm and yanking him to his feet.

"Lazy," he growls. "You think you can rest when there’s work to do?"

His slap echoes through the air, sharp and cruel.

The boy’s face turns red, tears welling in his eyes, but he doesn’t make a sound. He only nods and gets back to work, his hands shaking as he picks up the bucket again.

Eve looks away, his stomach turning. The sight isn’t new, but it still makes his chest tighten. He swallows hard, trying to push the nausea down, but it rises again when he sees another child stumble, this time in the fields, legs too weak to stand.

"Get up!" the Housemaster barks, stepping forward with a cruel smile. "You can’t afford to rest. Not when there’s food to be earned."

The child whimpers, their small hands clutching at the dirt as they try to rise, but their body betrays them. The Housemaster’s smile falters for a second, then he reaches down and drags the child to their feet, slapping them across the face.

"You’ll learn to keep going," he sneers. "If you want to eat tonight."

The child nods, eyes lowered, and stumbles back to work. Eve’s heart pounds in his chest. The air feels thick, heavy with the weight of fear, but he can’t find the courage to speak. To ask for help. To do anything but keep moving.

As the day wears on, the Housemaster circles like a shadow, watching every child closely. When a girl falters, he’s there with a quick reprimand, a snap of his fingers to force her back to her feet. When the children begin to slow, he picks up the pace, pushing them harder. They work long after the sun has begun to dip behind the horizon, the golden light fading as the hours stretch into exhaustion.

But when the children are too afraid, when their shoulders slump in defeat, the Housemaster’s voice softens. He smiles that same smile again, the one that once made Eve believe he cared.

"Come now, don’t worry. Rest for tonight. Tomorrow is a new day," he says, his voice syrupy sweet.

The children gather in the common room, the atmosphere heavy with tension. The air smells of freshly baked bread and roasted meat. The warmth doesn’t reach their hearts. Eve stands in the corner as he watches the Housemaster’s every movement. He holds his hands behind his back, posture straight, but his eyes are hard as stone.

"Get over here, all of you," the Housemaster commands. His voice is sharp. The room falls silent in an instant.

The older children, who had been tasked with cooking, shuffle to the front, their heads lowered. Their hands are stained with flour, and their eyes are weary from the day’s work. They glance at each other nervously, waiting for the Housemaster’s wrath.

"You call this cooking?" he spits, looking over the half-prepared meal. "You’re all too slow. Do you think food grows on trees? You’ve got no excuse for this mess. I’ll do it myself if you can’t get it right."

His face twists into a snarl, his fingers curling into fists.

The older kids shrink back, muttering apologies under their breath. Their heads stay down, no one daring to speak out, the fear of what might come next hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

The Housemaster stands tall, towering over them as he grabs a ladle, his movements precise.

"Don’t just stand there," he snaps, his voice suddenly shifting, now smooth and warm. "Get in line. I’ll take care of dinner tonight."

The kids do as they’re told, moving to the side, their faces blank with a mix of relief and dread. Eve watches as the Housemaster’s demeanor completely changes, his scowl melting into an artificial smile.

He carefully ladles meat stew and serves the freshly baked pies. His hands, usually so brutal, now move with a strange gentleness, like he’s doing them a favor.

"There," he says, the smile on his face too wide. "Fresh meat pies for everyone. You’ve all earned it. The food will warm your bellies, and make you strong again. Remember who provides for you."

Eve’s stomach tightens. The Housemaster’s shift in attitude is jarring. One moment, he’s harsh and unforgiving, and the next, he’s as pleasant as could be. The children line up in silence, each taking their plate, their eyes avoiding the Housemaster’s gaze, but they still accept the food without question.

Eve stands off to the side, watching as the Housemaster serves each plate with care. The tension is thick as the room fills with the smell of the meat pies. His eyes flicker around the room, watching the older kids edge away from the table. Their shoulders slump, their faces pale. They don’t seem to know how to feel. They’ve seen this act before, the sweet smile that hides the cruelty.

"Eat up," the Housemaster says, his voice syrupy and warm. "You need the strength. Tomorrow, we work again. No slacking. Understood?"

"Yes, Housemaster," the children murmur, their voices barely audible.

Eve takes his plate quietly, feeling the weight of the moment, the power shift so obvious, so unsettling. He sits at the long table, taking small bites of the pie, the warmth of the food does little to chase the chill in his bones. He keeps his eyes down, watching the others, each child trying to pretend this isn't a routine that’s becoming all too familiar.

The Housemaster smiles at them all, his eyes scanning the room, but there's no warmth in it. Just control. And Eve feels it.

The children sit back, confused and wary, the relief brief but real. The Housemaster’s promises ring hollow in the back of Eve’s mind, but he’s too tired to protest. The facade is so seamless, so smooth, that they fall for it every time. They rest for a moment, but the moment is always short-lived.

And when it’s time to work again, the cycle starts anew.

Eve feels it deep in his bones. The lies. The fear. The crushing weight of it all. Every time the Housemaster smiles, Eve sees through it just a little more.

XIX: ESCAPE… AGAIN.

The candle falters in the dark. Eve sits alone in his bed, pressing his knees close to his chest. The bloated Housemaster’s stomach hangs loosely over his belt as he rises from his victim’s mattress. He lazily looks down at Eve. It’s as if the child is nothing more than an inconvenience. He strokes his belly slowly and deliberately.

“Goodnight, Eve,” he says, his hands on his hips.

Eve says nothing, his jaw clenched. He watches as the Housemaster step out of his room, his feet heavy on the floor. The sound of his boots bouncing through the silence as he turns around the hallway. Eve’s eyes burn, the hatred in his chest spreading like fire. He watches the Housemaster’s figure ascend the stairs.

He can’t stop staring at the empty hallway. His fists clench. He hears the Housemaster’s footsteps fade, then the loud, guttural sound of his snoring from upstairs.

Eve breathes in deep. The snoring fills the room. It’s too much. He stands slowly. His legs feel stiff… muscles aching from the day’s work… and from the Housemaster. He walks to the door. Every step is a reminder of how much longer he can’t stand it. His feet drag as he heads toward the door, but the weight of what he’s about to do presses against him. He’s had enough.

Eve opens the door and steps into the dim hallway. He shivers at the silence. Every floorboard beneath him creaks as he walks, his body tense. It’s like he can feel the Housemaster’s eyes still on him, even though he’s upstairs.

Eve reaches the door of the other kids’ room. He knocks lightly at first, then harder when no one answers. He can hear someone stir inside, a muffled voice calling out.

“Who is it?” Adam’s voice is soft but urgent.

“It’s me,” Eve whispers, voice tight. “Open up.”

The door cracks open just enough for Adam to peer through. His hair is messy and his eyes are half-lidded from sleep.

“What’s wrong?” Adam asks, his voice low.

Eve steps into the room, closing the door behind him. His heart pounds, his hands trembling as he speaks.

“We have to leave. We can’t stay here anymore. I can’t take it. He’s... he’s breaking us.” His words are rushed, his voice thick with the fear and anger he’s been holding back. “We have to tell the others. We can’t let this happen to us.”

Adam looks at him, his face unclear for a moment. Then, he sighs, rubbing his face with a tired hand.

“Where will we go, Eve?” Adam asks, his voice quiet. “Do you think we’ll just walk out and find a better place? We’ll starve to death out there.”

“We’ll find something,” Eve says, his voice rising with desperation. “Anywhere but here. Anywhere but under his control. We can’t... I can’t live like this anymore.”

Adam shakes his head, frustration creeping into his voice. “And what about everyone else? Do you think they’ll just follow us? They’ll stay, Eve. They won’t leave. They’re too scared.”

“I can’t stay!” Eve shouts, the words spilling out of him. “I can’t let him keep doing this! I can’t be his puppet anymore! I can’t be his…”

Adam takes a step back, his face tense. “Shhh, keep it down. He’ll hear us.”

But Eve’s chest is tight with the weight of it all. “I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if he hears me. I don’t care if he—”

“Eve, listen!” Adam cuts him off, his voice a little sharper. “You’re not the only one who’s been through this. We all have. But we have to be smart. Yelling won’t fix anything.”

Eve stands there, his hands clenched at his sides. His breath comes in shallow bursts, his pulse quickening. “So, we do nothing? We just let him keep—”

“No, but we wait,” Adam says, his tone softer now. “We wait for the right moment. It’s not about rushing off into the night. It’s about getting out alive.”

Eve’s shoulders slump, the fight draining out of him. He looks at Adam, his heart heavy. “You think we’ll make it?”

Adam doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at Eve. Finally, he speaks.

“I don’t know, but we have to try.”

The silence hangs between them. Eve feels the weight of it, but it doesn’t feel as heavy as it did before. Adam’s words, though unsure, have given him a sliver of hope.

The floor creaks above them. The Housemaster’s snoring continues, loud and constant. Eve looks at Adam one last time before he heads for the door.

“Later, we’ll talk to the others,” Eve says, his voice steadier now.

Adam nods.

----------------------------------------

Eve’s mind is a blur. His breath is shallow. He can’t stop thinking about the Housemaster. The weight. The pressure. The way he had pinned him down. The way his breath smelled like stale sewage and sweat. Eve shudders.

His spine aches. The pain is sharp, crawling up his back, curling around his ribs. Every movement feels like it stretches the ache further. His hands shake. His teeth grit. He can’t get the feeling out of his skin. The way the Housemaster’s weight had pressed down, he couldn’t breathe.

Eve stands in the dark kitchen, staring at the blade in front of him. The knife. Cold steel in his hand. It feels heavy. He doesn’t know what he plans to do. His fingers curl around the handle. He grips it tighter. The steel digs into his palm.

He moves toward the door. His legs feel unsteady. His feet drag across the floor. The house is too quiet. The walls close in on him. The darkness presses harder with each step.

The hallway stretches before him, long and dark. The shadows in the corners seem to reach out to him. He feels like they’re pulling him forward. He doesn’t know if he’s walking or stumbling. His mind is too loud. Too scattered. Every step feels wrong like the ground beneath him might swallow him whole.

He reaches the door. The housemaster’s door. His heart beats in his throat. His breath is shallow. The knife in his hand feels like it might slip from his grasp. He hesitates, staring at the door. His mind races.

The door is quiet. It doesn’t move. The housemaster is inside. Eve can feel him. He’s waiting.

Eve’s fingers twitch. He grabs the handle. He turns it slowly. It creaks.

The door opens.

The room is dark. The housemaster’s silhouette lies still in the bed. Eve steps in, his pulse racing. His legs tremble, and the knife feels like it’s burning his hand.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know why he’s here. All he feels is the ache in his spine. The weight of the housemaster pressing him down. Eve takes another step forward. His breath is loud in his ears.

He holds the knife up, his fingers numb. He doesn’t know if he’ll use it. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

He only knows the pain, the weight. And the need to escape.

XX: THE HAND THAT FEEDS

Eve’s hand shakes as the knife hovers over the Housemaster. His chest heaves with each breath. The steel glints in the moonlight. His grip tightens. The weight of his body, the pressure, the pain———he can’t think straight anymore. Everything blurs. He plunges the knife down.

But before it meets flesh, the Housemaster's eyes snap open. He shoots out his hand and grabs Eve by the arm, jerking him backward. Eve gasps. He screams in pain. The Housemaster is too strong. He twists Eve’s arm, throwing him across the room. Eve crashes to the floor, his head slamming into the wood.

The Housemaster towers over the child. His face is a mask of cold fury.

“Do not bite the hand that feeds,” he snarls. “You will be punished.”

Eve tries to crawl away. His body is shaking and his limbs feel too weak. His vision swims as the Housemaster moves to the side, unbuckling his belt. The sound of the leather sliding through loops is like a thunderclap in the silence.

Eve’s heart pounds. He scrambles to push himself up. The belt snaps through the air, a crack like a whip.

Eve yells, the pain tearing through him as the belt strikes his back. It cuts through his skin, leaving a searing line of gash. Another hit, and another. The force behind each strike sends him skidding across the floor.

Outside the room, other children stir. The sounds of Eve’s screams echo in the halls, sharp and desperate. The wood of the walls shakes with each strike, the sound of the belt against flesh loud enough to rattle the quiet night.

Eve can barely breathe. His body feels broken, each movement a struggle. His vision flickers in and out. The pain is too much. His mind spins, trying to make sense of it, but it slips away from him like sand in the wind.

The Housemaster stands above him, his chest rising and falling, as if he’s pleased with his work. The room is filled with the stench of sweat, blood, and fear.

The Housemaster unbuttons…

Eve lies there, crumpled, his body shuddering. The pain is all he knows now. And the sound of his breath… ragged and broken.