I'll Never Leave You

Emma suddenly forgot how words worked; her heart pounded wildly, as if wanting to escape. It was almost painful, the way it tried to pound itself right out of the ribcage, despite being confined to the person stuck in place, processing.

The world paled, the sounds inaudible, passing by her. They were speaking to her —or maybe to each other —that much Emma knew. Yet she couldn’t tear her eyes from her.

Evil.

Evil stared back, frowning and holding on to Fey. She scrutinized Emma from head to toe, and it stung- the lack of recognition in her eyes.

Everything made sense now, looking at her baby sister. She understood the fear coursing through others at the sight of this uncanny personage. She could see pieces of the girl she grew up with, the girl who ran away at such a young age, and the girl Emma sometimes thought to be dead. Broken pieces scattered in her expression, hidden under layers of anger. The same abysmal eyes adorned with eyelashes that fluttered angrily every time she got frustrated or confused gazed upon this stranger who knew her like she knew her own mind.

Yet she was so different. Tall. Taller than Emma by a head or so. She wore all black, contrasting her ever so sickly pale complexion. Her hair grew longer, falling neatly over her shoulders and almost reaching her waist. Much wider shoulders that betrayed the newly acquired athletic physique. The years chiseled her face, no longer full and youthful but sharp-edged like a feline. It wore a scowl and a malicious expression that wasn’t there before. She resembled them - the demons Emma had been fighting and loathing, the demons present in that room and everything her kind feared. The tenderness of her sister had frozen, icing the outside. She barely appeared as a person anymore; she was a soulless killing machine.

In spite of it all, Emma couldn’t help the rush of warmth coursing through her, giving her an overwhelming sense of relief. Evil was alive! Alive and well, standing tall in front of her. She bit her tongue as a hot feeling climbed up to her eyes. She blinked- again and again, until she was positive she wouldn't burst out crying. Still, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from her, fearful she would disappear.

For so many years- ten whole years Emma had been searching every corner. So long had this search stretched that Emma began to wonder if she really did have a sister at all. Did she even exist? Had Emma made her up?

Millions of scenarios had gone through her head. Thousands of nights, before going to sleep and in her dreams, Emma imagined how their meeting would go, and it would always be blurry. Part of her subconscious refused to conjure the thought of Evil being dead, or not wanting anything to do with Emma. She couldn't stop grief from consuming her at the mere thought of anything bad having happened to her sister. Every nightmare reminded her that the clock was ticking and that time was ruthless. Still, Emma refused to give up.

Evil might have noticed her expression, because her glare melted into a somewhat dazed expression. It didn’t last, as Fey butted in. “Did you have to be so mean to the poor girl?” Fey pouted, signaling the direction of the dead girl.

Evil turned to the corpse, inspecting it. The corpse’s poor state, all blood and broken bones, ignited something so visibly disturbing in her that Emma had to take a step back. That psychotic smile… it raised bumps all over Emma’s arms.

She likes to play with her prey.

Oh.

Now she sees it.

What have they done to her?

“She got in my way.”

“Can’t you ever in your life be careful?! We just supplied the stock!” Kian retorted.

Evil brushed off his concerns. “ You always have something to complain about, don’t you, asshole?”

“Because you always have to come and fuck everything up!”

Evil pushed Fey aside and charged at Kian with a ferocity that Emma was familiar with. She had seen it when they were little, and Emma was the butt of the joke for the girls in class. Only now, that expression was amplified a thousand times over. Evil grabbed Kian by the collar with enough force to shake him. He was off balance for a second, but continued to keep his attention on Evil. Even when Emma was sure he was about to punch her, Evil..

She spat on him.

Right between his eyes. A muscle in his jaw twitched at the realization. Evil poked disdainfully at a popping vein on his forehead and said, “I’m not in the mood for your shit today.”

Fey clutched her stomach, almost bent over in half with laughter. Was this… was it common? Was nobody worried about the aggravating tension between them?

In the blink of an eye, Kian grabbed Evil by the hair and threw her across the room. She landed right next to the girl's corpse, dirtying herself with the blood pooled on the ground. Emma took a sharp breath and, on instinct, rushed to her side. She knelt next to her, grabbing her by the forearm to help her up.

Evil looked at her with a stare so unfamiliar that it sent an electric shiver through Emma's entire body. She had never received a look so ill-natured, so vicious, from her before. It snapped her back to reality, making her realize that Evil had no idea who she was looking at. Emma swallowed hard. "Are you okay?"

Evil didn't answer. She just pulled her hand away and stood up, bumping into Emma on the way. Her steps quickened until they turned into a full sprint. She ran towards Kian, jumping on him and knocking him to the ground. They started wrestling, throwing punches left and right. Emma stood dazed on the floor, looking to Fey for help. Fey giggled with no care in the world, signaling Emma to leave them alone.

Easy to say and harder to do. The force of the punches was uncanny- definitely not a playful fight. Evil’s nose was bleeding, and Kian had bruises on his jaw. But this… this was her team- the esteemed team everyone feared. How come Lucian’s most prized weapons couldn’t stand one another? Although judging from Evil and Fey’s overly familiar gestures, Emma could guess that wasn’t the case for every one of them. This gave life to another terrifying discovery. Evil and Fey-

“Does this happen often?”

“All the time.” Fey approved. “I’m sorry, this ruined my girl’s introduction. That’s Evil.”

“Your… girl?”

“Oh, yes,” Fey smirked. “We’ve had a thing for years. She belongs to me.”

“So…she’s your girlfriend?”

“Not exactly, no. More like…my favourite playmate.”

“Favourite playmate” carried a baggage of uncanniness. Everything these people did was in some way linked with animalistic behaviour. To guess what kind of play Fey was referring to wasn’t complicated in the least, and it wouldn’t have been a problem if the circumstances weren’t so shady. Why was Fey acting so familiar with Emma if Evil was “her girl”? How could Evil stomach someone as obnoxious as Fey? Lucian’s daughter, none other.

Elias stepped in, pulling those two off each other with great effort. His ruffled blouse and his scratched arms attested to his bravery.

“Don’t fucking butt in, Elias- he needs his feathers ruffled!” Evil shouted.

“And you need your mouth sewn shut!”

Emma got up, her legs shaking slightly. She wrapped an arm around herself and tapped Fey with the other. “What exactly…is going on? The girl…,” she vaguely pointed towards the corpse on the ground, “and her…,” and then pointed at Evil.

“Oh, don’t worry! Elias will probably clean it up. Let’s go, I’ll walk you back!”

“Are we leaving?” Emma asked, a hint of reluctance hidden in her tone.

“What, you don’t wanna?”

Emma shook her head toward her sister, who was trying to clean the blood off her hair, glaring at Kian. She once again made eye contact with Emma, and once more, Emma hesitated to break it. Nevertheless, she walked with Fey into the cold of the night.

***

Fey’s room was so undeniably her. Evil loved and hated it. The gold detailing on the walls covered the blandness of the white underneath. Most of the bedroom was either white or a gold so rich it would engulf everything once hit by the rays of the sun. Compared to Evil’s cave of a room, always dark and gritty, Fey’s was so bright it strained your eyes. The massive windows took up an entire wall by themselves. Thankfully, Fey had the brilliant idea of adding a pair of curtains.

Whenever Evil visited, the house looked a tad different each time. Fey loved to mess around with decoration, to repaint, to change the rugs, the tiles, the furniture, denying the fact that she’s the most indecisive person by shoving her favourite magazine at you.

“The art of Feng Shui. See? It’s good for peace of mind!”

If only this indecisiveness of hers stopped at furniture. A girl who’d been spoiled rotten like her is bound to change her mind every minute- it never had consequences. Everything- everyone- she wanted was given to her on a silver platter without as much as raising a finger. A single pout and Daddy was on his way. Evil deeply envied this about Fey. Fortunately, the sweetness of her feelings coated the truth enough for her to be indifferent to it.

Over the years, cracks appeared. Evil tried to patch them up again and again. Fey was the only thing that remained, which she could hold onto- her unlimited supply of affection, which was, after all, limited. Lately, Fey became distant. Although others always existed in the picture, Evil knew she had secured a place in Fey’s life- a place that couldn’t be dethroned so easily. They shared many moments of all kinds throughout the years and practically grew up together. Her sweet words to Evil soothed the agitating whispers of doubt in her mind. Fey could never leave her. She promised. Evil was her favourite person, no matter who came and went.

Her unwillingness stretched like a bowstring, ready to be released any second. Evil couldn’t pretend Fey’s innate boredom wasn’t aimed at her as well. Couldn’t keep pretending she wasn’t a movable pawn in her massive game of chess. A newcomer had captured her attention so greatly; Evil shook with nerves, and raging fire burned within her chest.

Just who did she think she was?

A complete stranger- an average girl, a slave of Gem’s- could crawl her way under Fey’s skin? Evil spent years learning this girl’s ins and outs. She had spent years taking notes and trying to decipher her codes, to pass her tests, to play her games, to revel in her prizes. Evil could tell with only one glance what Fey felt, whether she showcased it with her whole being or only fluttered her lashes.

Evil’s mind worked itself to insanity, a laugh bubbling in her chest at the sheer thought of her being replaced with an outsider. Her hands squeezed the bunny plushie Evil had gifted Fey on her birthday the year prior. Terribly ugly thing- googly eyes too big for its face, horrendous stitchwork, and cheap, pasticky fur stuck on with a glue gun. Fey begged, so Evil relented.

When it came to her, Evil always relented.

She didn't even notice when Fey stepped into the room, but that was nothing new. Fey had a knack for slipping in unnoticed, like a cat stepping on pillows, completely overlooked by its prey. The unsuspecting prey lay on the bed with the long-eared rat clutched in her fist, glassy eyes peering beyond the wall in front of her. A manicured hand snatched Evil's rabbit from her grasp, startling her.

“You scratched me,” Evil pointed out, licking the small tear next to her knuckles.

“Serves you right! You were strangling Mr. Vincent!”

Evil snorted, reminded of that name. “Serves him right; it uglies your room.”

Fey arranged the rabbit's fur in such a distressed manner, you'd think it was a mother mending her offspring's hair. She placed it in its place of honor, on the nightstand, and turned her angry gaze to the abuser sprawled on her bed.

“Could say the same thing about you.”

Evil’s entire mood went down the drain in a second. Any color she had left in her face faded, and her straight eyebrows drew an angry crease. What was with this attitude?

Blinded by rage, the ever-so-observant Evil no longer noticed the small glint in Fey’s eyes, the giveaway sign that it was nothing more than a joke. But the glint disappeared as quickly as it had appeared at the sight of the abrupt change in Evil’s demeanor.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Fey.” Evil spat, clearly bothered. She avoided meeting her honey eyes, out of fear she would once again crumble. “Where were you?”

“Running some errands,” Fey responded, taking off her hairpins.

“At the market again?”

Fey frowned, turning towards Evil with a perplexed expression. “No, what of it?”

“I thought you paid another visit to that dog of Gem’s.”

Fey scoffed, vigorously slamming her hairpins down on the table.”What’s your problem? You’ve been prissy ever since that night at the factory. So what if I went?”

“So you did go?!”

Evil fumed; her head pounded alarmingly. Her canines bared in a snarl as she spat a string of cuss words at her beloved, without even thinking if she was deserving of them. Her eyes were blinded by red and jealousy, by the mere thought of her perfectly crafted relationship shattering from the touch of a rugged intruder.

All of the bottled-up insecurity resurfaced from an insignificant, vague answer, which Evil took and ran with. Fear traveled through her arteries, pumped throughout her body by her desperate heart.

“She’s an ugly, dirty, fucking dog! What do you even see in her? You want Gem’s fucking minion touching you? You think her empty brain would be good to play with? To dig your lies into her cranium?! Huh?!”

Fey watched Evil in silence, her expression turning from one of shock to something so cold and indescribable, it chilled you to the bone. A flash, and before Evil could realize what was happening, a stinging sensation spread throughout her cheek. Her face was moved by the force of the slap, eyes downcast and wide as saucers, the rims reddening with anger and shame.

“What the fuck, Fey?!” she shouted.

Evil’s pupils contracted in anguish. An urge to storm out battled vigorously with an overwhelming fear of abandonment. Sweat pooled at her temples, cold against her hot skin. She swallowed the lump in her throat at the mere thought of Fey having had enough of her bullshit and finally cutting the string. Never before had Fey dared to touch her in such a way. Had she finally reached her limit?

Over the years, the string tying them loosened- with every argument, with every insecurity, threads came undone. Evil tried, with trembling hands, to tie it back together. Tried to glue it, tried to patch it, to take the loose ends and tie them together, despairing at the feeling of them slipping through her fingers.

Fey stepped on her every effort, too busy studying new playthings. The flame of her desire blinded her to Evil's love. She simply cut the cord with a swift movement and it fell limply to the ground, withering.

“Are you about done?” Fey shot her a displeased look, bordering on repulsion.

"What does she have that I don't?!" Evil cried, fear getting the best of her. "What do they all have that I lack?!"

Evil was beginning to lose her mind, at her wits' end, thanks to Fey's lack of consideration. Fey got more irritated by the second, waiting for her friend to finish her temper tantrum.

She kept her hands crossed to her chest, blowing carelessly at the lock of hair tickling her forehead. "Why compare in the first place? I'm not making a top ten."

"Do you fucking hear yourself?!" Evil barked, slamming her hands on the table. "Am I just a number to you? Gonna give me a five-star rating in your hook-up journal?"

Fey laughed. "You're unbelievable. I can't believe you're jealous of a girl I've talked to only a handful of times."

"Because you don't usually do that! You never give a fuck about anyone, anyone but me! And I-"

She sat back down, staring into space as she ran a hand through her now sweaty hair.

"I don't want to be grouped with them, or have a nobody take my place."

Fey finally showed Evil some grace by giving her full attention. She couldn't comprehend the problem posed- whatever she and Evil had was purely amiable. The metaphorical contract had been drawn long before, to which both parties agreed. No feelings involved, no commitment needed, fewer headaches for later down the line. Something clearly went wrong, however, as Fey's temples throbbed with pain.

Avoiding conflict was her best asset. Sweet-talking her way through life has gotten Fey so far along, over so many obstacles, endless dead ends, pointless arguments, and helped her slither down people's veins right into their beating heart, now so full of her. Her voice was her weapon, and boy, did she know how to wield it.

"Nobody is going to take your place," she assured Evil in a much sweeter tone, caressing her face with delicate hands. Her fingers traced the sharp features on her face, presently scrunched up in such a way that it made her look almost pitiful. Helpless like a kicked puppy, wagging its tail tentatively and hoping its owner would pick it up to comfort it.

"You know you're my favourite girl," she assured her, sparkling some enchanted soundwaves into Evil. The tension in her face dissipated gradually, leaving behind a mildly shaken expression with a hidden layer of sorrow underneath.

Evil was relieved to hear such caring words from the person she held so dear. Swiped with a handkerchief, the rage evaporated into thin air, migrating to a chamber in her subconscious mind from which it would escape again, will the context show itself.

Evil leaned into her touch, covering Fey's hand with her own. She pressed closer, nuzzling herself in her hand and, ultimately, her neck, as she hugged her. A flowery scent filled her nostrils- so comfortable, so safe. How could she possibly think Fey didn't love her? There's no other.

"I'm with you," Fey promised.

The promise rang in her mind with recognition. Long ago, when they were still children, Fey had whispered those same words to her—those words so simple and so reassuring. Evil had melted in her arms then, as she did now, wanting nothing more than to melt and merge with Fey, to form one person, to never be separated.

“I will never leave your side. No matter where life takes us, I’ll be right next to you, keeping you company,” Fey had told her that night, ten years ago, when a part of her died.

For three days, she’d been missing. Evil remembered almost nothing of those days, knowing only that her body went through the movements, while her brain shut down. Her consciousness, drained of all power, hid in a secluded corner of her mind, refusing to take initiative. She walked mechanically, as if her own body did not belong to her, and someone else controlled her with a lever.

Lost in the vast forest, Evil eventually fainted from fatigue and could not get up for three days. For three days, her body was heavy as lead, and her mind lost in the darkest thoughts she had ever had. She only wanted to die quickly. What was the point of living anymore? For whom to live anymore?

For her dead mother or the sister who hated her?

Evil was born to bring bad luck, and now she had received the greatest confirmation. The universe was pushing her from behind to spare the suffering of the poor people who had the misfortune to meet her.

She had to die. It was the only solution.

Through the tears that drowned her vision, her feverish self seemed to see Ophelia. Her wonderful mother, whom she had not appreciated enough, the woman who had loved her unconditionally, despite the fact that she was a disgusting monster with no place in the world. Ophelia's pity had cost her her life.

She should have taken Emma only, and thrown Evil into the forest. She should have died.

That Ophelia looked exactly like her mother in real life, in the flesh. She was a tall, proud woman with the warmest gaze that ever looked Evil’s way. She crouched down beside Evil, who was curled up at the base of a tree.

She reached out a hand adorned with silver rings and colorful precious stones to brush her hair from her face. She stroked her head with a gentle touch—so gentle, it might have been the wind.

“Get up, baby, doesn’t it hurt?”

Doesn’t hurt? Doesn’t what hurt? Evil didn’t know what her mother meant. She didn’t know how much time had passed, and she had forgotten where she was. She felt a dull ache in her arms and legs that hadn’t moved for days, and in her stomach that burned from lack of water or food. In fact, her whole body was burning. But Evil didn’t feel it.

Although she opened her mouth to answer, no sound came out. She had screamed and cried herself hoarse and hadn't had a drop of water since Nox knows when.

"Shh, don't force yourself. Let mommy help."

Ophelia reached to take her hand, and Evil willed herself to tell her not to bother. She wanted to die - she was almost there anyway. It wasn't so scary. It didn't hurt anymore.

Her attempts proved futile.

Next thing she knew, she faded out of consciousness and woke up on something soft with a nice, warm weight pulled over her. She opened her dark eyes, ornamented by red spiderwebs, and saw Fey standing on the edge of the bed. She blinked once, twice, wondering if it was another hallucination.

“Don’t move too much,“ the girl in front of her said, wearing a more serious look than she had ever seen before. Evil hadn’t believed Fey’s face could make up such a grieving expression.

She felt a damp, cold sensation on her forehead. Fey dabbed it with a wet towel, so her fever would go down. “Is that better?”

Evil pursed her lips, remaining silent.

“A guy, some hunter, found you and tried to dial your mom, but she didn’t answer.”

A wave of sorrow engulfed Evil. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The hunter didn't know that her mom would never answer again.

"By a stroke of luck, Daddy had called you right at that moment. If he hadn't, you'd-"

"Why?" she managed to croak out, voice still damaged.

Even now, when conscious, the sorrow in her heart hurt more than any wound. A gash in her skin became insignificant in the face of hopelessness. Why fuss over pain? Why let the survival instinct take over when you see no point in survival anymore?

It felt good, even. The pain -it felt deserved. More pain should've been brought upon her, to torture her to inhumane ends, and it still wouldn't atone for her sins.

It was better than living peacefully, though. How could she live with herself from now on?

"Why didn't you let me die?"

Hot tears streamed down her pale cheeks. She bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, but couldn't stop a whimper from escaping. "Why-" She tried again, voice broken and miserable. The lump in her throat didn't let her speak anymore.

Shame burned within her at being so vulnerable in front of someone. Never had someone who wasn't part of her family seen her shed a single tear. No matter how she wanted the ground to swallow her, she couldn't stop herself from sobbing.

They say crying clears the soul, washes away the pain etched onto one’s spirit. Evil couldn’t feel farther away from cleansed. She felt torn, pulled inside out, exposing her most precious secrets to the judging world. She was utterly disgusted with herself; what right did this monster have to cry? Swallowing in self-pity like the selfish caricature she’d been born as. Her tears were made of blood, and her body out of broken souls. Her hands, her heart, her soul were all tainted for eternity, with no chance to be cleaned.

Her hands came up to cover her face. Fey looked at her, bewildered, with the bandages ready to be applied. She stilled abruptly.

What happened to her? What could she do? How to console someone so distressed?

Evil cried so hard she could barely breathe. In a fit of coughing, her fist bumped against her chest a few times, but didn't stop there- before Fey realized what she was doing, Evil was hitting herself hard enough to bruise.

"Hey, stop!" Fey threw the bandages on the bed and went to secure Evil's wrists.

Evil didn't give up, choosing to hit her head on the headboard instead. She managed two hits before Fey stopped her again. A drop of blood trickled from her forehead. It was diluted by her tear-stained face, like a drop of red paint dissipating in a jar of water.

"Why didn't you let me die?!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Why?! She's gone! They're gone! I'm all alone!"

The blood in Fey's veins went cold. The sight of the usually untouchable Evil crumbling under her gaze scared her senseless. Fey wasn't an empathetic person, but in that moment, she felt heartache injected into her bone marrow.

She hugged Evil in a tight embrace. Her body, still fragile at that time, was shaking from all the joints. Fey tried her best to keep her in a hold strong enough so that she wouldn't start hitting herself again.

"Hey, I'm with you, you hear me? I don't know what happened to you, and you don't need to tell me." She told her, not knowing if Evil even heard her or processed what she said. However, she continued to speak with her sweet voice next to her ear.

"But don't throw such big words around. I won't let you die, so don't get any ideas." Fey gulped, shivering at the thought. Although she didn't know Evil for long, the thought of her friend, who she'd come so close to so fast, dying made her swell with worry and dread. "You're not alone. As long as I'm alive, you'll always have me."

Unable to caress her head with her arms full, she simply rested her head against hers. "I'll never leave you."