Evanca looked around, realizing she was sitting on the cold, grimy floor.
A knife rested in her trembling hand, its blade glinting faintly in the dim light.
She slowly turned her gaze to the other hand — faint crimson lines marked her wrist.
What are these… marks?
Her breath hitched. As she leaned closer, the truth struck her like ice — the girl whose body she now inhabited had tried to take her own life.
The floor was stained with blood. Some of it had dried into dark patches, while splatters painted the cracked, yellowing walls.
Evanca pushed herself up, her legs weak beneath her.
The house around her was in ruin. Dust clung to every surface, cobwebs drooped from the ceiling, and the smell of decay lingered thick in the air.
Rotten food sat forgotten on a table, and rats darted across the corners, their squeaks echoing faintly.
She turned and caught sight of a mirror leaning crookedly against the wall.
Slowly, she walked toward it.
What she saw made her freeze.
A young girl — perhaps sixteen — stared back at her.
Her hair was a tangled mess of black strands, dull and lifeless. Her eyes, once brown perhaps, now seemed clouded… almost hollow, like shadows trapped behind glass.
Her face was pale, with traces of dried tears on her cheeks.
She wore a torn t-shirt and ripped trousers, both so filthy they looked as though they hadn't been washed in weeks.
Evanca exhaled shakily, a sigh heavy with disbelief.
Then — a sudden knock.
Her head whipped toward the door.
Another knock followed, louder this time.
The fragile wood shuddered under the force, dust falling from the frame.
The room was so small it could barely be called one — more like a forgotten storage space than a home.
The knocking grew harsher, pounding in rhythm with her heartbeat.
Step by step, she moved closer.
Her hand hovered over the doorknob, fingers trembling.
And then—
She opened the door—
It was a man standing at the doorway.
He looked to be around forty, maybe forty-five — his face rough and lined with exhaustion, his clothes stained from years of wear. But Evanca had no interest in who he was; she simply stared at him, waiting for him to speak.
Without a word, the man's hand shot forward.
Smack!
The sound echoed through the tiny room.
Evanca stumbled backward, the impact stinging her cheek. She pressed a trembling hand against it, eyes burning with anger.
But the man's fury burned hotter.
"Where's the rent!?" he barked, his voice harsh and cracked. "I keep giving you more time, and you still haven't paid! I'm not leaving until I get my money!"
His face twisted with rage, veins visible along his neck.
Evanca took a slow breath, forcing herself to calm down. Her cheek throbbed painfully — she could already feel it swelling.
"Give me a week," she said quietly, her voice steady but cold. "I'll pay you in a week."
"A week?" He scoffed bitterly. "I'm done waiting. Get out! You won't be able to pay me anyway!"
Her eyes widened, confusion flickering across her face.
He sneered. "You haven't found a job yet — how are you ever going to pay in the future?"
Before she could answer, he grabbed the front of her torn t-shirt and yanked her forward.
"Wait—!"
Her protest was cut short as he dragged her across the floor, through the doorway, and shoved her outside.
She stumbled and fell hard against the dirt.
It was the slums.
The air was thick with filth, the stench of rot and waste suffocating.
She coughed, covering her nose, her eyes watering from the smell.
Everything around her was broken — shattered glass, rusted metal, and narrow, grimy streets where no sunlight seemed to reach.
Evanca sat there for a moment, dazed, her cheek burning, her body trembling.
Thrown out.
Alone.
And with nothing left but the clothes on her back.