Evan’s World: Episode 8 – A Madison’s World Side Story

The soft jingle of her collar punctuated the silence as Charity shifted slightly beside Evan on the wide leather car seat. The sound had become almost constant now, an ever-present reminder of who she was, and more painfully, who she no longer was. The metal tag bounced gently against her collarbone with every small movement, like punctuation in a sentence she no longer got to write. 

Evan sat beside her, immersed in the glowing screen of her phone, her long fingers scrolling effortlessly through a seemingly endless stream of messages, apps, and teenage chatter. Her legs were folded neatly beneath her, and her long, glossy hair spilled down like a waterfall of honey and gold across her shoulder. 

Charity watched her in silence. 

She used to be like that. Her phone had once been her world, scheduling lunch dates, sending snarky texts, keeping tabs on parties and fundraisers. Now? Her world fit in the palm of someone else’s hand. 

Literally. 

She turned her head slightly, still instinctively expecting to feel the comforting sweep of her long hair cascade down her shoulder. But it didn’t. Her fingers reached up and found only blunt, unfamiliar ends. Her scalp prickled slightly at the sensation, and the phantom memory of her former locks made her chest ache. 

She had worked so hard on her hair, keratin treatments, layers, balayage. A stylist who knew how to frame her cheekbones just right. Her hair had been an identity. Now, it was a decision made in the waiting room of a salon. Evan’s decision. Like she was a doll. 

Charity ran her fingers through the short strands again. Her fingertips brushed air where they used to meet volume. The sense of loss settled over her again, not tragic, not dramatic, but deeply personal. Quietly cruel. 

“Don’t you just love it?” Evan’s voice chimed brightly, pulling Charity’s attention up to her guardian. “You look adorbs with short hair.” 

Charity didn’t answer. Not that Evan noticed. Her phone had already drawn her gaze back in. 

“We’ll be home soon,” Evan continued breezily. “Then I’ll take you up to my room. That’s where you’ll live from now on.” 

Charity’s breath hitched. 

That’s where you’ll live from now on. 

The words replayed in her head like a broken music box. They weren’t spoken as a question or even a plan. They were spoken as a truth. An unchangeable reality. 

Evan’s room. 

Her new world. 

It wouldn’t just be her sleeping place, it would be her entire domain. Her crate. Her cage. Her… home. The finality of it echoed inside her chest like an empty hallway. Evan’s bedroom, where no one else would watch, no one else would intervene. Total privacy. Total power. 

Charity glanced over just in time to see Evan reaching into her pink faux-leather purse, the glittery zipper tugged open with ease. Charity expected to see her pull out lip balm or another phone charger, but instead Evan withdrew her hand with a small pile of pellets. 

The kind she remembered. 

The kind she had once judged people for feeding to their Littles. The kind she had tried for fun at a party with Kira once, chalky, flavorless, degrading. And now… 

“You must be hungry, girl,” Evan said warmly, presenting the tiny mound in her palm. “Go on. Eat up.” 

The way she said girl made something inside Charity twist. It wasn’t her name. It wasn’t even her nickname. It was a label. A title. A spoken confirmation that whatever humanity she clung to was a worn, fraying thread. 

Charity’s body hesitated. 

She wanted to slap the pellets from Evan’s hand. Scream that she wasn’t some pet. That she was Charity Stevens. But her stomach had its own voice, louder, deeper, more persuasive. The hunger gnawed at her, whispering that pride didn’t fill an empty gut. 

Her limbs betrayed her. She stepped forward, her bare feet pressing into the leather seat. The collar jangled again as she reached out, fingers trembling, and took one of the beige pellets into her hands. She bit into it. 

And blinked in surprise. 

The flavor burst on her tongue, savory, slightly sweet, almost like roasted chicken with a hint of rosemary. Her eyes widened involuntarily as she took another, then another. Her body leaned into the meal, the primal satisfaction of nourishment overruling her shame. 

“I’m not gonna take it from you,” Evan giggled, watching her eat. “Slow down, okay?” 

The tone was soft. Maybe even sincere. But it was the wrong kind of gentle, the condescending sweetness of a teenager humoring a pet rabbit. Charity felt the warmth of Evan’s gaze press against her, and it only made her chew faster. 

“It’s weird, right?” Evan mused aloud. “You used to have such a refined palate. Now you’re scarfing down pellets from a box.” 

She giggled again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“This is what you’ll eat from now on. I picked up a bunch of different flavors. Well, Mom picked them up while she was doing the groceries. We’ve got breakfast blend, lunch crunch, and dinner digestives. It’s all super balanced. Like… way healthier than people food.” 

Charity’s lips parted. “Evan… I need people food. Just a little. Please.” 

It was all her voice could manage, thin and fragile like tissue paper. Her vocal cords, still raw from weeks of disuse and Alejandra’s neglect, barely projected. But Evan heard. 

And Evan smiled. 

“Shhh. Don’t strain your voice. Especially not for something silly.” 

Charity’s fists clenched. 

She straightened slightly, brushing a crumb off her with a casual finality. 

“People food isn’t for Littles,” Evan added, more matter-of-fact now. “It’s like feeding a baby cake, it’s cute until it kills them. You’re not built for it anymore, Charity.” 

Charity’s chewing slowed. 

Not built for it anymore. 

Like her bones had softened, like her digestive system had been rewritten into something smaller, weaker. Something fragile. That phrase didn’t just take food away from her—it rewrote who she was. It marked a boundary she could never cross again. 

Her mind spiraled, not forward, but back. 

She could still remember that rooftop sushi bar with Kira. A celebration dinner. They had shared uni and wagyu skewers under glowing string lights, Kira mock-gasping every time the check arrived because “God, Charity, how are we not famous yet?” They’d laughed so hard she’d almost choked on a seaweed chip. There was a photograph from that night, she remembered—her in a black cocktail dress, Kira in gold, both mid-laugh, chopsticks raised like dueling swords. 

Then there was brunch. God, brunch. Brioche French toast soaked in bourbon vanilla custard. Kira swiping bacon from her plate. The waitress rolling her eyes when they asked for a second round of mimosas “just for the color.” The taste of powdered sugar on her fingers. The slow sweetness of syrup. The freedom of eating something completely because they wanted it, not because it was portioned, assigned, administered. 

She had lived those meals. Chosen them. 

Now she was swallowing chicken-flavored pellets from the palm of a tweenager like it was obedience training. 

She chewed slower. not because she was full, but because it was the only form of resistance she could still control. Even the pace of her submission had to be hers. Because if she gave that up too… she feared there’d be nothing left of her at all. 

Evan tilted her head thoughtfully, her eyes resting on Charity’s face with something like pity wrapped in pride. 

“You’ll thank me eventually,” she said. “Your body already has.” 

Charity froze. 

The unspoken threat stung more than any punishment. 

Her voice. Her literal ability to speak, held hostage by the whims of a girl who, who wasn’t even old enough to drive. Evan held the key. And she knew it. 

The car’s engine rumbled softly beneath them, and through the window Charity could see the familiar neighborhoods of their city drifting past. Houses she once walked by on her way to the salon. Restaurants she had made reservations at. Streets where she had parked her car. Her life. 

Now she was here, collared, short-haired, fed from a barely turned teenager’s palm. 

And yet… she was still breathing. Still watching. Still learning. 

She tucked the final pellet into her mouth, chewing slowly now. Her eyes never left Evan’s glowing phone as it flickered in her lap. 

One day, maybe, she’d figure out how to speak again, not just with volume. 

But with power. 

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