The path back to Grandma's house was narrower than Evan remembered, more tangled with creeping vines and wild grass than the words in the book had made it seem. Barefoot, in an eight-year-old's unfamiliar body, he stumbled now and then, toes catching on gnarled roots. A chill breeze ran through the trees, rustling leaves like whispers trailing behind him. He held his arms close to his sides, feeling the strange lightness of Leon's body.
A body that was now his.
His mind hadn't stopped spinning since he'd woken in that hidden hollow, the forest pressing in around him like a secret kept too long. He'd known the moment he opened his eyes and smelled the mossy earth: this wasn't the city. This wasn't his apartment. This was Leon's world.
Claire's world.
The world of 'The Vengeful Maiden'
He knew what this place was had walked it in his imagination through nearly five hundred pages. But living it, breathing it? That was different. Surreal. Terrifying. His heart thumped in his chest like it hadn't caught up yet, like it still believed he'd wake up at any second, back in his creaky twin bed with the book splayed open on his chest.
But this wasn't a dream. The wind bit too sharply. The ache in his soles was too real.
He'd made a vow.
Avoid Claire.
Avoid the plot.
Live quiet.
He wasn't Leon. Not truly. But he carried his name now, wore his face. And he wouldn't make the same mistakes. Not this time. Especially not with her.
The trees thinned ahead, and he saw the crooked outline of the gate that led to one of the outer homes. His breath caught.
There she was.
Claire.
She sat hunched against the wooden fence, knees pulled to her chest, hair tangled and draped over her face. She wore a threadbare yellow dress that did nothing against the early morning cold. Her shoulders shook faintly.
Evan stopped.
It was her.
No this wasn't a book anymore. This wasn't a character.
It was her.
He shouldn't get involved. He knew where this story went. The book had been cruel to her. But she had been cruel in turn. Leon, his body's original owner, had died at her hands, a knife buried deep in his chest in the final chapter.
But Claire's tears weren't made of ink.
They hit the ground like real ones.
Evan took half a step back.
'Don't.'
'She's not your responsibility.'
Then…
Something clicked.
Something pulled.
The memory didn't come as a whisper, but as a jolt like a broken dam.
A vision, not his, and yet so painfully familiar swelled behind his eyes:
Leon. Eight years old. Curled in the same hollow Evan had woken up in. Dirt under his nails, face streaked with tears. His clothes were ragged. With bruises though lighter, older. He felt isolated from the world as if he wasn't a part of it as though there was no one to anchor him to it. It felt as if a slight displacement and he would be gone for good.
The younger Leon had cried there.
Not because he thought someone might hear him.
But because he knew no one would. And nobody will even care enough to ask if he was fine if they heard. And maybe that was fine because he never has to care what others think of him, maybe that's way it will be easier to fit in with the rest of the world he doesn't have to force it. Just assume the world, go along with others and maintain his place. Having no one witness this moment made him feel lost but at the same time glad because they won't have anything to tease him with. he'll remain the privileged kid that lives with his grandma that loves him very much.
He'd sat there for hours, knees drawn to his chest, his small body trembling from the cold and the ache that radiated from every bruise. His arms were wrapped tightly around his legs, his fingers clutching the fabric of his torn pants as though holding himself together was all he could do to keep from falling apart completely.
The bruises weren't the worst part.
They hurt, yes. The sharp sting of a slap, the dull thud of a fist those left marks on his skin, but they faded eventually.
The real pain was the silence.
The way the world seemed to turn its back on him. The world had abandoned him.
The way, no matter how loud he screamed inside his head, no one ever came looking for him.
He'd cried into the mossy earth, his breath hitching in quiet, trembling gasps. He didn't sob he didn't dare make that much noise. But the tears came anyway, slipping down his cheeks and dripping onto his scraped knees, leaving trails through the dirt that clung to his skin.
It wasn't the kind of crying that brought relief.
It was the kind that hollowed him out.
The kind that left him with nothing but the ache of knowing he was utterly alone.
He didn't know how long he'd sat there, the forest pressing in around him, the air growing colder as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Time didn't matter in moments like that.
What mattered was the weight in his chest.
The weight of knowing that no one was coming.
No one would find him.
No one would care.
Evan stumbled, breath catching.
The memory vanished as quickly as it had come.
But it left an ache.
His eyes returned to Claire.
She hadn't noticed him yet.
She looked like how Leon had felt.
Alone.
Forgotten.
A quiet kind of broken.
And suddenly, Evan couldn't remember why he'd ever thought he could leave her there. Why he was so hell bent on not associating with her now felt like a stupid excuse after experiencing what Leon went through.
He didn't move yet. The wind blew a little harder, lifting the hem of Claire's dress. Her knees were scraped. Bare feet red with cold.
Still, she didn't cry loudly. Just sat.
Silent.
Like she was used to it.
He wanted to say something.
But what?
"Hey?"
Too soft.
Too loud?
Claire's head snapped up.
Their eyes met.
Blue. Wide. Mistrustful.
Then, guarded.
As if she'd built the walls long ago and never stopped reinforcing them.
Evan took a breath, heart pounding.
"Are you…" he tried, then stopped. She was already pulling her legs in tighter, like preparing to run.
He bit his lip.
That was too soon.
Too much.
Instead, he stepped back behind the trees. Out of her view.
He leaned against the bark, chest tight.
'You weren't supposed to talk to her, remember?'
But the memory of Leon of that same crouched, broken posture wouldn't leave him.
He pressed a hand to his heart. It felt too full.
Too human.
'Tomorrow,' he told himself.
'Tomorrow, I'll keep my vow.'
'Just not today.'
He waited in the shadows until her quiet sobbing started again.
And he didn't walk away. Just this once he'll be there.