Evan’s World: Episode 7 – A Madison’s World Side Story

“You smell so good. The scent is supposed to last three weeks so we will have to go back every couple weeks. Get you a bath and I can get a blowout.”  Evan said so matter of fact that there was no room for her to argue.  
 
The lack of agency or power was hard to adjust to. Charity’s mind drifted back to the doctor’s office where they were seeing a doctor for her shots and microchip as the replacement procedure required seeing a specialist as opposed to Evan’s regular doctor. Charity had asked about seeing her own doctor. However, Evan refused her the ability of seeing her own doctor. She had been told a little doesn’t have their own doctor. They see their guardian’s doctor.  As much as it bothered Charity she still recognized it as a step up from the vet she had seen a few weeks ago.  

Charity sat anxiously on the cool, sterile examination table, its vast expanse covered in crisp, white paper that crinkled loudly beneath her slightest movements. The clinical aroma of antiseptic and alcohol wipes stung her sensitive nostrils, reinforcing the cold sterility of the room. Bright overhead lights hummed softly, casting stark illumination that rendered her diminutive form even more exposed and vulnerable. Her small legs dangled helplessly over the edge of the table, her feet swinging nervously, highlighting the overwhelming difference in scale. 

Nearby, Evan Kingsley reclined comfortably in a cushioned chair, her slender legs casually crossed at the ankles, one hand effortlessly scrolling through her glittery pink phone. Despite her youthful appearance, Evan exuded unmistakable confidence and control. Charity found it almost surreal, just weeks earlier, she had barely acknowledged Evan, dismissing her as nothing more than a child. Now, Evan was her guardian, the one holding absolute authority over every aspect of her life. 

The door opened quietly, and Dr. Holland, Evan’s regular doctor entered with a reassuring, professional smile. Tall and slender, her dark hair meticulously arranged into a tight bun, she adjusted her sleek, rimless glasses as her eyes scanned the clipboard she carried. 

“Good afternoon, Evan,” the doctor greeted warmly, settling onto a stool across from them. “How are you feeling today?” 

“Fine,” Evan replied nonchalantly, briefly looking up from her phone. “Although my sugars were off this morning. I might’ve forgotten my insulin last night.” 

The doctor’s brow furrowed, a crease forming above her glasses. “We’ve discussed this, Evan. Consistency with your insulin is crucial. Even small oversights can cause your blood sugar to crash, lethargy, confusion, even collapse. You can’t afford to take chances.” 

Charity, perched stiffly on the waxy paper of the oversized exam table, froze. Her tiny hands clutched the hem of her doll-sized skirt as she tried to process the information. Evan? Diabetic? 

It was a strange jolt. Evan Kingsley, bossy, smug, practically glowing with entitlement, wasn’t supposed to be vulnerable. And yet here she was, scolded by a doctor, her medical condition laid bare like anyone else’s. A strange sensation curled in Charity’s stomach. Not quite sympathy, not quite pity. Something… complicated. 

“I know,” Evan muttered with a roll of her eyes. “I just forgot, okay? I’ll be better about it.” 

Dr. Holland nodded, but the warning lingered in the air like the antiseptic sting clinging to every surface of the room. Then her gaze turned to Charity. It softened a degree, though her tone was still firm. “Charity, this matters. Evan’s condition can become serious fast. Now, I know your size limits what you can do, but Evan will carry glucose tabs with her. If she starts acting strange, slurred speech, dazed, shaky, you need to get her to take one. They’ll be in a pink capsule keychain. Easy to open.” 

Charity blinked, the weight of that responsibility pressing into her like a stone. At five and a half inches tall, the idea of helping someone hundreds of times her mass seemed absurd. But still, her pulse fluttered with a faint, reluctant sense of duty. She nodded solemnly. “I understand.” 
 
“Now that you have a little Evan. Its important you start the bonding process with her. I reviewed her data it doesn’t appear any kind of bonding process has started. Their are various neurological and chemical reactions that occur in a little when bonded or starting to bond that aren’t present.” Dr. Holland said before looking at Charity. 

“Now Charity, you will notice a scent when Evan’s glucose drops. It’s something your new Little olfactory detects. Those are your cues to notify Evan or the people around her that she needs to eat something or get an injection. Basically a intervention needs to occur. Evan is your guardian now and as her little this is your responsibility.   

Charity nodded understanding that she had a responsibility. It was the first time since being a little that she had an actual duty. Not a chore,  not a task given but an actual responsibility.  She hated that it felt good. That she found herself relieved that she could be of use. This was the same girl who just had Brie a junior stylist cut her meticulously groomed hair. Now she had a role to play in this world still and she hated that it felt good. That Evan was providing her with a purpose she never got with Alejandra.  

“You will notice as your bond increases oxytocin driven dependency triggers will start occurring.  Charity will develop comfort not only around you but to your scent and touch.  Closeness to you will be relaxing and pleasing to her.  So, when your glucose level drops, she will not only smell it but recognize the biological change often before you have any symptoms or signs of things being wrong. So it’s important that you pay attention to what your little is trying to tell you Evan.  
 
Evan’s eyebrows lifted with interest. “Wait, so she’s like, biologically wired to take care of me now?” Her voice lilted with surprise and a note of glee. “That’s kind of amazing.” 

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze drifting to Charity in her lap. “So she can smell when my sugar’s off? Like a tiny little glucose detector?” 

Her smile widened. “That’s actually… kind of cute.” She paused, then added, a little more seriously, “But also kinda scary. Guess I really do need her.” 

Then, as if remembering the doctor’s words more seriously, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll watch for it. If she gets all fidgety or clingy or whatever, I’ll know something’s up.” 

She looked down and gave Charity’s hair an affectionate stroke, her tone softening slightly. “Guess that makes us a team, huh?” 

To Evan, it was a perk, a feature of owning a Little. But to Charity, it was something else entirely. Something deeper. Something binding. 

Biologically wired to care for Evan. 

Her, Charity Stevens. Volleyball captain. Former honor roll student. Former human being with a schedule, a voice, a scent she chose for herself. 

Now, she was being discussed like a device. Like some kind of designer dog bred to sense seizures or emotional breakdowns. Worse, she could already feel the truth of it in her chest, how her body had started to quiet when Evan’s fingers brushed her hair, how the scent of Evan’s shampoo no longer repulsed her the way it used to. 

God, was her body already responding? 

Her fists clenched, the scent of cherry vanilla rising faintly from her own skin, proof of how much had already been rewritten. 

She looked up at Evan, who was now grinning like this was the best news all day. Like getting a micro-sized glucose alarm with glitter and cute outfits. 

Charity’s breath hitched. The worst part wasn’t the humiliation. It wasn’t even the dependency. 

It was the fear. 

Because what if this wasn’t all conditioning? 

What if, in some horrible, irreversible way, her body really was starting to like being near Evan? 

The conversation drifted on, but Charity hardly heard it. Her gaze flicked to Evan’s hand resting on the armrest, casual, painted nails glinting in the clinical light, the same fingers that had plucked her up like a prize, petted her hair, adjusted her towel like she was something precious. 

Her skin still buzzed faintly where Brie had scrubbed her. But it was something else now too. A phantom echo where Evan’s thumb had grazed the side of her arm moments ago. The touch lingered. 

Closeness to you will be relaxing and pleasing to her, the doctor had said. 

Was that what this was? 

Charity’s lips pressed into a line, her shoulders rising as if she could push the thought out by sheer tension alone. Oxytocin-driven dependency triggers. The phrase sounded like something from a psychology textbook, clinical, sterile, scientific. 

But it wasn’t sterile. It was her, and she could feel it, subtle, quiet, frightening. 

She thought of Alejandra. 

Weeks in her home. Fed. Bathed. Even tucked in once. And yet, not once had Charity felt that same involuntary pull. Alejandra had been kind, at times even maternal. But the bond… it had never rooted. It stayed surface-level, brittle. Like she’d always been trying to survive it. 

With Evan, she’d barely lasted a single afternoon before her body began to betray her. 

Why? 

She hated the question the moment it formed. 

Was it the proximity? The attention? Or something more insidious, some cruel lottery of biology and brain chemistry? Had her DNA drawn a losing number in the compatibility deck? 

She blinked down at her hands, tiny and trembling in her lap, and suddenly the idea of bonding felt less like a process and more like a parasite. Something was threading itself into her, making her comfort itself into the shape Evan wanted. 

Not because Evan deserved it. 

Because her body believed she did. 

And that… that was worse than collaring. Worse than scented baths. Worse than being brushed and styled and spoken over. 

It meant her fight could be taken from the inside. 

Evan glanced down, her eyes flicking from her phone to the tiny figure on the exam table. Without a word, she reached over and scooped Charity into her palm, settling her into her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Charity’s breath hitched as her body shifted as the warmth of Evan’s palm seeped into her like sun through frosted glass, filtered, unwanted, but undeniably present., gravity pulling her inward toward the warmth of Evan’s abdomen beneath her shirt. The rise and fall of the girl’s stomach was soft, rhythmic, almost… lulling. Evan’s other hand came down instinctively, her thumb tracing an idle circle along Charity’s back. 

It should’ve been irritating, patronizing, infantilizing, wrong. And it was. 

But it was also something else. 

Charity felt it creeping up her spine, a faint, magnetic warmth that spread outward from the place Evan’s skin touched hers. Not comforting, not really. Not in any way she wanted. But in the way her body wanted. The tension in her shoulders slackened just slightly, her eyes fluttering before snapping open again in horror. 

No. 

She didn’t want to be soothed. She didn’t want her pulse to slow, or her breathing to match Evan’s. But her body, so small, so rewired, was cooperating anyway. Responding like she was a child curling into a parent. Like a living system trying to survive in the only way it still could. 

Evan didn’t notice. She just smiled and continued chatting with the doctor, her hand shifting now to stroke Charity’s hair. 

And again, there it was. That faint pull. Like the calm that precedes sleep. A suggestion of safety that hadn’t been earned. 

Charity clenched her jaw, forcing her limbs to stiffen, to reject the comfort, but the signal didn’t fully reach them. Her body remained pliant in Evan’s lap, her nerves confused. Her scent still carried Evan’s soap from earlier, the faintest trace of cherry vanilla lingering in the fabric of the girl’s hoodie. 

It wasn’t trust. 

It was biology. 

Compatibility, the doctor had said. A match. A pairing that worked on a neurological level. As involuntary as scent, as deep as instinct. Evan and Charity’s signatures matched just enough to trigger the start of it. 

Charity had always thought of herself as resistant. Defiant. But maybe Alejandra had just been incompatible. An awkward pairing. Wrong fit, wrong rhythm. And now, with Evan… 

Now, her defenses were being tested. Quietly. In the silence between words. In the rhythm of a heartbeat that wasn’t hers. 

She closed her eyes again, this time not from peace, but strategy. Because if this was real, if her body was going to do this, then she needed to know. She needed to understand the signals. The patterns. What triggered the bond. What reinforced it. 

Dr. Holland studied her a beat longer, then turned back to Evan. “I reviewed the scans from the Microchip you had implanted earlier and noticed her vocal chords are partially malformed.  We can setup a corrective procedure. Its fairly simple it can happen from time to time with littles during the transformation process their body goes under when infected.” 

Evan glanced down at Charity, her lips curling. “Nope. She hasn’t earned that yet. I kind of like her like this. Keeps her humble.” 

Charity’s face flushed. Her fingers twitched against the paper sheet beneath her, its sterile crinkle amplifying her silence. The injustice burned, her voice, reduced to a whim. An indulgence to be revoked or restored at Evan’s pleasure. 

Before she could process it further, a familiar sound chimed. Evan’s phone vibrated against the chair’s faux-leather armrest. She perked up, unlocking the screen with a flick of her pink acrylic coated thumb. 

“Hey, Mads!” Evan chirped, instantly brighter, her earlier cold dismissal of the surgery forgotten as her friend’s face lit up the screen. “Guess who’s getting her Little checkup?” 

The camera panned as Evan angled the phone toward the edge of the table. Charity felt the lens find her, even before Madison spoke. Her skin prickled as the spotlight of attention returned. 

Onscreen, Madison Wessen’s image came into focus polished as always, curled blonde hair framing a sharp smirk. Behind her, a glimpse of their elegant family living room: pale marble flooring, airy drapes, artfully cluttered with designer throws and expensive taste. Madison squinted, then let out a delighted gasp. 

“Oh. My. God. Is that Charity Stevens?” 

Charity stiffened. There was no warmth in the tone, only sugary mockery. 

“It is,” Evan replied proudly, beaming. “Doesn’t feel real yet, having her all mine.” 

Madison’s mouth dropped open in theatrical shock. “The girl who once tried to have Brooklyn banned from the country club for ‘misusing facility privileges’ now was sitting  on a pad at the doctor’s office earlier. Now parked in Evan’s lap. Life is so poetic.” 

Charity looked down. Her cheeks burned hotter than before. Every word, every sneer, hit like static beneath her skin. There was no recourse, no comeback. Not with a throat that couldn’t raise itself above a whisper. Not with her feet dangling helplessly above the floor. 

Madison leaned closer to the camera, the screen distorting her into something almost surreal. “She still got that annoying fake perfume thing she used to wear? Or did you have her washed down?” 

Evan laughed. “She just got her first full scent treatment today, cherry vanilla. Supposed to last three weeks. We’ll go back soon for touch-ups. I’m thinking she and I can go together, she gets her soak, I get a blowout.” 

Charity flinched. This was going to be her smell. Evan was going to have her permanently wrapped in Cherry Vanilla. 

“I am obsessed,” Madison said, drawing out the word. “Wait, hang on, Mom! Come look!” 

Another face slid into frame, more composed, more dangerous. Cindy Wessen’s presence overtook the call with ease. Cool toned makeup, slicked-back hair, an oversized cream sweater that suggested effortless status. 

“Well,” Cindy said, her voice buttery, almost maternal. “She looks adorable, Evan. You’ve done well. Not everyone’s first Little lands them such a high profile catch.” 

Charity’s stomach knotted. 

“Thanks, Ms. Wessen,” Evan replied, sitting up straighter under the compliment. “I’ve been trying to do everything right.” 

Cindy smiled, warmly at first, but there was calculation behind her eyes, like a chess player already four moves ahead. “It’s clear she’s responding to structure. That’s the key. Remember: cute doesn’t mean compliant. You don’t want her charming her way around rules.” 

“I’ve got some rules,” Evan said brightly. “Bedtime. Mealtimes. No sass.” 

Cindy’s smile tightened. “That’s a good start. But the important thing is enforcement. Littles like Charity come from structured environments, academic, corporate, high control. When they lose that structure, they panic. They test. They defy.” 

Charity’s eyes flicked upward. Her jaw tensed. 

Cindy’s voice lowered, like a private tip just for Evan. “Isolation is effective. Silence reinforces power hierarchies. Remove privileges early and often. And if that’s not enough? The new collars have built-in correction functions. Discreet, programmable. You don’t have to raise your voice, you just press a button.” 

Evan nodded slowly, absorbing it. Her eyes flicked down to Charity again, gaze thoughtful, clinical. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Madison was still grinning. “You’ve got her. Now break her in.” 

Charity sat frozen, the white paper beneath her wrinkling in her clenched fists. They were talking about her like she wasn’t even there. Or rather, as if she was there, but only as something to mold. To display. To train. 

“Structure is everything,” Cindy added with a smile. “It keeps her small in all the right ways.” 

Evan giggled and tilted the phone back toward herself. “Thanks, guys. Seriously. This is… kinda perfect.” 

“You smell just like I imagined. You’re gonna be the coziest thing in my room.” she added, flicking a strand of Charity’s hair. “I can hardly wait for Brie to give you your next one. This scent is going to be your signature. Plus, I’ll get a blowout. I love a good blowout” 

Charity said nothing. Her throat tightened around the words she no longer trusted to hold meaning. 

She glanced over to the corner of the room where Evan had set her purse. Through the mesh of the glittery side pocket, she could just make out the faint pink glint of the glucose capsule keychain. That was her job now. Be watchful. Be helpful. Be silent. 

She turned her eyes back toward Evan who had resumed chatting now with Dr. Holland about upcoming school events and insulin schedules, and she realized something new. Evan might have all the power. But she also had weaknesses. Things she couldn’t control. Needs that had to be met. 

If there was a crack in Evan’s armor, Charity would find it. Not with rebellion. Not with rage. But with the quiet study of someone who no longer believed in mercy, only leverage. 

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