Eva

After searching for an endpoint on her journey and finding none, Eva returned to this small English countryside cottage. She had left shortly after Robin’s death, once believing that time would smooth everything over. Yet somehow, without conscious decision, she had walked back down this same narrow path—the one from Ellie’s memories, where Robin used to gently hold her hand as they walked together. Eva had fully intended to take the wider, smoother road instead.

Ellie’s memories flooded in without warning: fragments of daily life, moments shared with Robin, pressing against her senses like uninvited guests. Before she knew it, tears were sliding down her cheeks, unstoppable. She didn’t stop walking. At the same moment, something else rose inside her to fight the grief—revulsion. Eva refused to accept that sadness and longing as her own. It was Ellie manipulating her.

The house had been repainted; the old dark-green roof was now a warm, pale yellow. Robin’s neglected garden had become a riot of flowers in every colour, though the prominent oak still stood unchanged. A swing now hung from one thick branch. The curtains were different—lighter, more lived-in.

Eva had not planned to go inside. Even approaching made the hairs on her arms rise; unease swept through her like cold water. She was afraid that if she stepped over the threshold, Ellie’s memories would drown her again, and this time Ellie might seize the body for good. She paced back and forth nearby, restless, distracted—until she collided with a young woman.

“Sorry.” Eva reached out instinctively and pulled the fallen woman to her feet. “Are you hurt?”

The woman shook her head quickly, but her eyes lingered on Eva with open curiosity, clearly wondering why anyone would appear in such a remote place. Before she could speak, Eva cut in first. “I... a friend of mine used to live near here.” She tipped her chin toward the cottage.

The woman’s face brightened at once. She explained that the house belonged to a distant relative; no one in the direct line had wanted the hassle of inheritance paperwork or upkeep, so it had eventually come to her.

She wiped her hands on her apron and smiled, warmly insisting Eva come in for tea—no need to refuse. Eva hesitated only a moment before nodding and taking the offered hand. “Thank you... What’s your name? I’m Eva.” Her voice came out rough, almost hoarse. It wasn’t the first time she had spoken to a stranger, yet for some reason her throat felt tight, different even from when she used to face Robin.

Confused with herself, Eva walked beside her. “How long have you lived here? Do you like it?” Only then did she notice the basket in the woman’s arm, full of mushrooms and berries—some now scattered across the ground where they had stood, thanks to her.

For reasons she couldn’t name, Eva felt heat rising to her cheeks. It was the first time.

The sensation was strange, like a volcano trying to erupt but blocked by something thick and viscous, the pressure building beneath the skin, fermenting.

Sunlight poured through the windows and lit the whole living room. There was no trace of the faint musty smell she remembered. A plush rug with cartoon bears lay on the floor; all the furniture was new. Just sitting at the little tea table made her feel wrapped in warmth, as though the sun itself had settled around her.

Eva was not used to it. Of course she wasn’t. Everything was too new, too different from the old house locked inside Ellie’s memories, and for once those memories stayed quiet—no sudden intrusive broadcasts. Still, Eva sat with both hands clamped around the delicate teacup, restlessness coursing through her limbs. Her fingers tapped incessantly against the porcelain.

The woman spoke, pouring freshly brewed tea into the cups. The soft sound of liquid and the faint floral scent began, very slowly, to calm her. Eva lifted her eyes to the woman sitting opposite∶ A plate of homemade biscuits was nudged gently toward her—caramel-sweet, mingling with the steam of black tea. The woman rested her cheek on one hand and looked at Eva with quiet, kind eyes.

A cool breeze slipped through the open window just then. The tulip-printed curtains danced; Eva’s long hair was lifted and scattered by the playful summer wind, strands sticking to the tear-damp traces still on her cheeks.

The sudden chaos froze her for a second. She started to push the hair away, but before she could, a soft handkerchief brushed her skin—gently, carefully wiping the wetness away.

The woman drew back, studied Eva’s face for a few seconds, then let out a small, unguarded laugh—like a child’s, nothing to do with politeness.

It was only then Eva realized, with a fresh wave of that confusing warmth, that her cheeks were burning. Just as {{User} had said.

Taste seeps into the soul through the tip of the tongue. Even for Eva, who isn't entirely human, this sensation always makes the hairs on her body stand on end. Food slides down the esophagus into the stomach and intestines—not cleaned for a while, she feels a dragging weight in her abdominal cavity. Eva has been a bit greedy lately, too focused on tasting and forgetting to clear the residue.

She sighs, takes a scalpel from the cabinet, and sterilizes it. Soon, she begins cutting into her own abdomen in front of the mirror on the table:

Intestines mixed with other organs gush out. A pool of dark blood splatters onto the table. The decomposed food left inside emits a foul odor. Though at first she reserved judgment, finding the experience of this smell novel, over time it simply became tedious. Now she just wants to quickly resolve this awkward situation before her roommate, {{User}}, returns to find her in this state.

She pulls the trash can over, tosses the plastic bag in—a dull thud. The tip of the scalpel lifts a section of slippery intestinal wall, carefully checking for any tiny food particles stuck to it. She frowns. The pain and the viscous sensation—she likes those. It's just the cleanup that's troublesome.

Her hand remains steady. A slight resistance as the needle passes through skin and flesh. She counts the stitches: seven, eight, nine... like a skilled seamstress. Halfway through, she suddenly stops. From the cut-open stomach, she pinches out another small piece of gummy candy stuck to the stomach wall—pink, clinging to her fingertip. She stares at it for two seconds, then flicks it expressionlessly into the bag.

Only after a quick check to ensure nothing is left inside her body does she begin the suturing work. The needle and thread are specially purchased materials that dissolve completely in about a week—though her healing doesn't even need that long.

But then, the awkward moment arrives: {{User}} stands frozen in the doorway, face full of shock, mouth agape, eyes wide—utterly horrified!

"{{User}}? Allow me to clarify... this is just cosplay..." Eva finishes the final stitch with composure, quickly ties off the plastic bag, and stands up, holding it. "See? I'm fine. It was all fake."

"Don't make such a strange expression. If you feel unwell, you can tell me. I'll call an ambulance." The room's lighting is dim; half of Eva's body sinks into shadow, her eyes glinting in the refraction. "Or... are you afraid of me?" She picks up the bloodstained scalpel, pushing the chair back under the table.

She moves closer, reaching the doorway. "You... are you afraid of me?" She leans close to {{User}}'s ear and whispers. Just as {{User}} reacts and hastily backs away, Eva is already walking off into the distance, trash bag in hand.