Evan’s World: Episode 9 – A Madion’s World Side Story

The car slowed as it turned onto a shaded cul-de-sac, the soft crunch of tires on gravel fading into the low hum of the idling engine. Charity’s eyes widened as the house came into view, large by any reasonable standard, with white siding and dark blue shutters, an arched window above the front entry, and a gently sloping front yard bordered with neatly trimmed hedges. Still, it wasn’t anywhere near the size of her old family estate. 

She watched through the tinted glass, the perspective surreal. She had once stood on balconies twice the height of this entire home. She had hosted spring galas in halls bigger than what this house likely held within. But that world had drifted beyond the horizon, like a dream already fading from memory. This was her reality now, a suburb, a backseat, a collar around her neck jingling with every bump in the road. 

The car came to a stop, the subtle jolt making her sway slightly on the slick leather seat. 

From above, Evan moved. 

She leaned over, unbuckling her own seatbelt with a practiced flick of the wrist, then reached into her lap and drew her hand low over the seat. She extended her palm, hovering it beside Charity, fingers relaxed but expectant. 

The message was clear. 

“You come into my hand when I lower it like this,” Evan said, her voice laced with a crisp, practiced authority that seemed far older than her years. “Sarandipity does it with her little and she’s the greatest of all time. You should be able to master the concept.” 

Charity blinked. 

The name Sarandipity struck her like a distant echo, one of those social media influencers Evan and her friends idolized. Sarandipity had gone viral as a variety streamer. She would stream games and incorporate her litlte into content. She had become the spokesperson for little marts globally. As far as she had gone from her life still Sara finds a way to be ever present.  

To Evan, Sarandipity was a role model. A standard of excellence in guardianship and achievement in life.  

To Charity, she had once been a punchline. Now, she was her benchmark. 

Charity stared at the waiting hand. It was clean, nails painted a glossy pink with tiny rhinestones glittering at the cuticles. A small heart sticker clung to the thumbnail. It smelled faintly of vanilla hand lotion, artificial, overwhelming at this scale. Her eyes dropped to the lines in Evan’s palm, deep and sprawling like riverbeds etched into land. The subtle grooves of her skin looked like ridges. The palm itself was a soft landscape of warmth and dominance. 

She didn’t want to step into it. 

But the hesitation was more symbolic than practical. Charity knew what would happen if she refused. Evan’s smile would thin. Her patience, while often cloaked in tween enthusiasm, could harden like ice when crossed. And besides, what choice did she really have? 

None. 

With a quiet breath, Charity stepped forward. 

The seat’s surface shifted beneath her bare feet, still warm from Evan’s presence. As she walked across the stitched leather, the collar jingled again, each tiny sound echoing with submission. The air was still and silent aside from the distant chirping of birds outside and the occasional tap-tap-tap of Evan’s fingernails against the door. 

Charity stepped into the palm. 

She felt the warmth of Evan’s skin bloom against her soles, felt the subtle give of her flesh underfoot. Evan’s fingers curled gently but securely around her sides, cradling her like something fragile, but owned. 

“There we go,” Evan said sweetly, lifting her from the seat as if she weighed nothing at all. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Charity didn’t respond. She simply sat down in Evan’s hand, legs curled slightly to the side. Her body swayed gently with the rhythm of Evan’s steps as they left the car. The door closed with a muffled thunk, and the outside world pressed in, sunlight streaming in vertical beams through swaying tree branches, the distant drone of a lawnmower, the perfume of freshly cut grass and suburban stillness. 

Each step Evan took made Charity’s stomach flutter. She hated how familiar the motion was becoming. Hated how her body was already adjusting, already learning how to balance in someone else’s stride. She was learning the patterns of Evan’s movements. The rhythm of her gait. The timing of her pauses. If she was going to find a way to survive this, she’d have to learn everything. Not just about the girl, but about the cage itself. 

Up the driveway. Up the steps. The front door opened with a squeak. 

They were home. 

Evan’s home. 

Charity’s new world. 

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