"Once, long, long ago, there was a fair lady who was a human in a world—a peaceful world, a paradise. Despite everything being perfect, the fair lady committed great despair, sworn in blood with the demon, a creation of her own blood and the demon. Their selfish union brought the world to collapse, leaving their fruits of despair to roam the land, consuming all in their path, existing in the darkness of night."

-The Fruits of Evil.

"There, class! That is the famous mural called 'The Fruits of Evil'! I'm sure all of you know the legend of vampires?" A young, youthful woman with brown hair exclaimed enthusiastically. Some might think she was more excited about the mural than the children she was looking after.

The students answered yes with much enthusiasm like their teacher. One exclaimed, "My parents said they're evil human-looking demons that lurk in your closet to eat you alive if you don't behave!" Another rebutted, "Nuh-uh! They'll kidnap you away from your mother if you don't eat dinner!" The small group of children argued about who was right, demanding their teacher answer, until one raised their hand, standing on tiptoes to get her attention.

"Oh! Little Evan! What is it, dear?"

"Teacher, why are vampires bad people?" A young boy with silky white hair and wide, soft dark purple eyes stared at her with such innocence, hoping for an answer. He continued, "Aren't vampires human too? We both need blood to live, right?" His voice was soft, some words mispronounced for an eight-year-old.

"Idiot. Humans don't need blood!" a rough, rowdy kid retorted.

"We do, though—7%!" he replied.

"Vampires consume blood—we don't, silly!" a girl said.

Evan looked at the ground, his small shoes clicking together as he clung to himself. "My sister does, though..." His eyes trickled with small droplets of tears. He continued, "Through here..." His hand pointed at his wrist.

'Oh, the kid must think IV fluid is blood... Poor kid, having a sick sister...' she thought, then crouched down to look at him, choosing her words carefully. "Oh, Evan... That's not blood... that's, ah... sugar water!"

"Sugar water?"

"Yeah! It will help your sister brim with energy! So you don't have to worry, alright?" She comforted him, her hand patting his head and brushing through his silver locks. "If you miss your sister so much, how about I call your parents to pick you up? How does that sound? I'm sure your sister would be happy to see her big brother visit her, right?" she asked, her voice playful.

He sniffled and nodded. "Okay!"

"C'mon, let's go." She giggled, offering her hand to him after notifying the other teachers to watch the children. He took her hand, his small fingers holding onto hers as they walked to the museum exit—all the while thinking, 'She doesn't know it's real blood. My sister isn't at the hospital...'

In the corner of his mind flashed images of blood being injected into his sister’s veins, his father gripping her wrist tightly as he did so, his expression pained while his sister cried. It was the same today too.

"Evan, you must not tell anyone about us, okay? For the sins our ancestors committed, we must be the ones to bear this pain. I'm sorry for making you grow up so fast..." His mother wept, hugging him tight as his sister's cries echoed before slowly fading.

"Mom... Is Cerce okay?"

"Don't worry... The fair lady made us this way. Your sister is just tired." She sighed, then continued, "We never wanted you two to know. Our bodies weaken with time without blood—we never... You found out by accident. So promise me, okay? Do not let your sister know our origins. No matter what." She raised her pinkie, offering it to Evan. Their fingers entwined like an oath.

She smiled gently as the waves, putting a pair of lightly tinted glasses on him. The tint turned his eyes a light sky blue. "Even though you know now, your dad and I still—and always—wish for our Evan and Cerce's days to always be bright. No matter what is written in our origins, your origins lie here, with our family."

...Those were words said to a child that grew faster than others his age....

...Mother’s words were always engraved deep in my mind, ...

.......

.......

.......

...I, too, wish for Cerce’s days to always be bright....

.......

.......

.......

...That was my first reason....

Beep. Beep. Beeeep.

Beneath the rumpled covers, his hand fumbled for the phone, silencing the alarm. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, yawning into his pillow as he lay on his stomach. Another quiet morning, like all the others. The delicate chime of wind charms danced through the window, mingling with sporadic birdsong - a peaceful start to the day.

With another jaw-cracking yawn, he stretched before rising from bed. His bare feet carried him to the bathroom where he brushed his teeth while mindlessly scrolling through his phone, snippets of music punctuating his browsing. Phone deposited on the cool marble countertop, he splashed water on his face before stepping into the shower's steady stream. Clean and dressed, he moved to the kitchen, preparing his standard light breakfast - crisp bacon, fluffy eggs, and a tall glass of water.

The tinted glasses slid onto his nose, transforming his unusual dark purple eyes into an unremarkable sky blue. Fingers tapped rhythmically against his phone screen as he composed a message to his sister:

> Good morning ^^!

> Did you sleep well? I hope you did. Remember to take your pills, okay?

> I don't want you to get sick. Have a good day, Cerce ^^

Ceecee is typing...

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.

A simple thumbs-up emoji appeared in response.

He exhaled through his nose, setting the phone aside to finish his meal. Her replies never varied - if he was lucky, maybe a word or two. It didn't upset him; she had her own life now.

The familiar morning routine continued: lights switched off, unnecessary cords unplugged to save electricity, coats shrugged over his shoulders. He gathered his white hair into a low ponytail before locking the apartment door behind him. The crisp morning air filled his lungs as he stepped outside - and promptly sneezed.

The neighborhood slowly came to life around him as he walked. He nodded to familiar faces, exchanging brief greetings until reaching his usual stop - the 'Old Lavender' café. The pink-haired owner with her distinctive downturned yellow eyes brightened at his entrance.

"Yoohoo! Evan, the usual?" Anne slid a steaming cup across the counter before he could answer, anticipating his order like clockwork.

"Ahaha—yes, Anne. How are you today?" he chuckled.

"Oh, you know," she waved a dismissive hand, "same old. I'll swing by the library after closing - those books are due. See you then! Enjoy your coffee!" With a cheerful wave, she turned to greet new customers.

Evan returned the gesture before settling in with his drink. A book emerged from his bag, and he lost himself in its pages, enveloped by the café's comforting ambiance - the murmur of conversation, the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He lingered longer than intended before finally packing up for work.

A sudden outburst shattered his focus.

"Ahhhh! I can't stand that publisher! What does he mean 'boring and repetitive'? It's horror - my specialty!" A lanky redhead slumped dramatically against the counter.

"Trouble in paradise?" teased a black-haired girl with electric blue highlights.

"What's that supposed to mean, Diane?"

"Well..." She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "You go on about your novels like you're married to them."

"I don't sound like that, do I?" The writer rubbed his neck sheepishly.

"Pretty much, yeah," Anne interjected bluntly.

"If your publisher thinks it's repetitive, why not try a different genre? Romance, maybe?" the girl suggested.

Anne nearly choked. "And write tragedies like you? No."

"Not a bad idea actually—"

"Ah—what—?" Anne's face paled. "I'm an avid reader—must you guys torture me like this?"

Their banter faded into the background as Evan returned to his book. After finishing his chapter, he carefully placed a bookmark and stowed the novel in his bag. The café bell jingled softly as he exited, tucking a stray white strand behind his ear before turning toward the library.

Keys jingled in his hand as he unlocked the library's entrance. Another simple day, he mused.

The hours passed in familiar rhythm - adjusting shelves, checking out books, assisting the occasional patron. Before he knew it, the day had slipped away. He bid farewell to the staff and was locking up when his phone vibrated.

"Hello, how may I help you?" His professional tone gave nothing away.

"Lusalle, sir. Situation in Mordain District." The deep voice carried urgency.

A barely perceptible frown flickered across his face before vanishing. His voice turned icy. "Five." He'd be there in five minutes.

"Yes, sir." The line went dead.

Evan pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply before striding into a nearby alley. Away from prying eyes, he removed his tinted glasses, revealing piercing violet irises. His white hair, now slicked back, framed a suddenly sharper face. The transformation complete, he buttoned his crisp black vest over a fitted shirt and pulled on gloves before entering the back door of a bar in Haelios District bordering Mordain.

A hush fell as he entered. Vampires bowed their heads in deference. His assistant walked beside him by his elbow.

"Sir. The pill shipment was hijacked. Three Salvation Hunters eliminated some of our people." The assistant gestured to the bound prisoners - battered but still defiant, their eyes burning with hatred. Hypocrites, Evan thought coldly.

"Casualties?"

"Four tonight. Thirteen total, counting previous incidents."

The silence that followed was heavier than stone.

"What salvation comes from bloodshed?" Evan murmured, more to himself. His men shifted uneasily.

"The bodies have been retrieved. We'll hold the usual funeral arrangements, sir."

Evan's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Kill them. Blood for blood."

"Understood, sir." The assistant bowed before turning to carry out the order.

The first scream echoed as Evan walked away, his expression carefully blank. Another simple day, he thought bitterly.

The mask slipped back into place as he entered the main bar area - the 'Black Lotus', his legitimate front. He exchanged pleasantries with off-duty staff, poured drinks, and maintained the charade for hours before finally returning to his apartment.

Locking his apartment door behind him, he caught his reflection in the dark window. 'Simple,' he mouthed, watching his lips twist into a grimace. If only.

The apartment was quiet except for the faint dripping of the bathroom faucet he'd been meaning to fix. With slow movements, he tied up his white hair, the strands still damp from the shower, then reached for his tinted glasses - the same pair he'd worn for years, the frames slightly bent from when he'd fallen asleep on them that one time.

The steam from the shower had fogged up the lenses completely by the time he stepped out of the bathroom, the humid air clinging to his skin. He wiped them clear with the hem of his shirt, blinking as the world came back into focus. The apartment seemed darker than usual tonight, the yellowed light from the kitchen fixture doing little to push back the shadows gathering in the corners.

He moved through the familiar space with the ease of long habit, his bare feet making no sound on the worn linoleum. The refrigerator hummed loudly as he opened it, the cold air washing over him as he surveyed its nearly empty shelves. A half-empty carton of eggs, some wilted greens, and a single takeout container from three nights ago. ‘I should go grocery shopping soon.’ He thought before he grabbed an egg and the instant noodles from the cabinet - chicken flavor, the same kind he'd been eating since he-graduated-because it was cheap and required no thought to prepare, when he's back in his house late at night.

As the water boiled, he leaned against the counter, listening to the growing rumble in the pot. The sound was comforting in its predictability. He cracked the egg against the rim of a chipped bowl, watching the yolk slide out whole and perfect. Some things, at least, still went right.

The noodles were done quickly, the steam rising in thin curls as he transferred them to a bowl. He poked the yolk with his chopsticks, watching the golden liquid spill out and mix with the broth. The first bite was always too hot, burning his tongue, but he welcomed the sharp sensation - something real to ground him in the moment.

He ate standing up, looking out the small kitchen window at the city lights below. His reflection ghosted in the glass - pale face, dark circles under his eyes, the glasses that never quite hid enough. Nights were always the hardest. In daylight, there were distractions - work, errands, the noise of other people living their lives. But at night, the world shrank to just these four walls and the thoughts he couldn't outrun.

The silence pressed in around him, so complete he could hear the ticking of the clock in the next room. He finished the noodles and drank the last of the broth straight from the bowl, the warmth spreading through his chest. The dishes took only minutes to wash - one bowl, one pair of chopsticks, and a small pot. He dried them carefully, placing each back in its proper place, the ritual as familiar as breathing.

When he finally moved toward the bedroom, his body felt heavy with exhaustion. The door creaked as it always did when opened too slowly, the sound grating in the quiet. His bed was unmade from that morning, the sheets still holding the shape of his body. He was about to collapse onto it when something caught his eye - a glint of silver in the dim light.

The photo frame sat on his dresser, slightly crooked. He didn't remember moving it. The glass was dusty, the edges of the frame worn smooth from years of handling. He picked it up carefully, as if afraid it might crumble to pieces in his hands.

The image faded with time but still clear enough to make out every detail. There he was at eighteen, tall and lanky in his school uniform, the blazer sleeves slightly too short at the wrists. Next to him, barely reaching his shoulder, was Cerce at fourteen - her hair loose and barely brushed, his graduation cap perched precariously on her head. She was wearing his scarf, when their dad took it off him for her since it was her middle school graduation too, and she was going to enroll to his school back then, the memory left some bittersweet ache in his heart, yet he still smiled to the fond memory.

With careful fingers, he wiped the dust from the glass using the sleeve of his pajama top. The fabric was soft from countless washes, the navy blue faded nearly to gray. The frame left a clean rectangle on the dusty dresser when he lifted it, revealing the wood beneath. He set it carefully on the nightstand, adjusting it until it sat just right.

The bed creaked as he finally lay down, the springs protesting as they always did. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, watching the play of shadows from the streetlight outside. When he closed his eyes, the darkness behind his lids was a welcome relief.

Sleep came slowly, creeping up on him like the tide. The last thing he saw before drifting off was the photo on the nightstand, the glass catching the faint light just so, making their smiles seem to glow in the dark.

The dream began as it always did - with laughter.

He was back at school, the air thick with the scent of cherry blossoms and the buzz of excited voices. The courtyard was packed with students in their uniforms, some still wearing their graduation robes, others already changed into casual clothes. The sun was warm on his face, the light filtering through the trees in dappled patterns on the pavement.

Riven appeared at his side as if summoned by thought, slinging an arm around his shoulders with practiced ease. "Well, high school went by pretty quick, didn't it, Evan?" His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, the same way they always did right before he said something ridiculous.

Evan laughed, the sound coming easier than it had in years. "Ahaha- It sure is, Riven. It's sad that everyone in our class is going their separate ways, so I do have some regret about that." He adjusted the cap on his head, the tassel brushing against his cheek. "I'm the only one in our class to go to Lyris University of Arts-"

The words were knocked from his lungs by a sharp smack between his shoulder blades. He doubled over, coughing, as Riven grinned unrepentantly.

"Bro- what am I to you, a roach?" Riven said, waving a piece of paper in front of Evan's face. "You should know I'll be beside you in front of those gates when we enroll." His grin widened as Evan struggled to catch his breath.

Evan blinked up at him, confused. "Woah, you're not going to med school anymore?"

Riven shrugged, the movement easy and careless. "It's too boring for me. I think it'll be cooler if I go on and be a tattoo artist or do pottery instead." He glanced over Evan's shoulder, his expression shifting to something more mischievous. "Well, I gotta go now! Your fam is waiting for ya." He gave Evan's shoulder a pat that was just a little too hard to be friendly. "And by the way... Is that your sister? She's pretty-"

The kick Evan aimed at Riven's knee connected with satisfying force, drawing a yelp of pain from his friend.

"Ahahah! Great talk," Evan said, already turning away. "I'll see you when we enroll, you son of a-" He bit off the curse at the last second, shaking his head as he walked toward his family.

They were waiting by the gate just as Riven had said - his mother practically bouncing on her toes, his father standing solid beside her, and Cerce trying (and failing) to look like she wasn't excited to see him.

"Oh there's my little high school graduate!" His mother, Naver, surged forward, wrapping him in a hug that smelled like her familiar lavender perfume. She rained kisses on his cheeks, her lips warm against his skin.

"The kid is in public, you're gonna embarrass him," his father said, but there was no real reproach in his voice as he gently pulled her back. "How 'Jude' of you, Jude," she shot back, but she was laughing as she said it. They fell into their usual banter, the back-and-forth as comfortable as an old sweater.

Evan watched them, the warmth in his chest growing with each passing second. Then he felt it - a small tug on the sleeve of his blazer. He looked down to see Cerce holding out a bouquet of roses, tulips and daisies, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.

"Bouquet for you," she mumbled, thrusting it upward so the flowers bumped against his chin.

Evan's grin could have lit up the courtyard. "Aww, finally opening your cold doors to your older brother again, Cerce? I am touched-"

"W-well don't get used to it!" she huffed, crossing her arms. "I only gave it to you because Dad told me to!"

Their mother laughed, the sound bright and clear. "We were gonna buy you flowers but Cerce insisted that she should be the only one to give you flowers~"

"She even used her allowance to buy you those," their father added, his eyes twinkling.

Cerce's face went scarlet. "AAAAAhhh- i hate you guys-" she stomped her foot, the gesture so perfectly childish that Evan couldn't help but laugh.

He wiped at his eyes, surprised to find actual tears there. "Okay, okay, Thank you very much for the flowers Cerce, I'm grateful!" He took his graduation cap from his head and placed it on hers, the tassel dangling in her face. "When we head back let's have some boba tea, okay? I'll pay."

"Hmp- fine," she said, but she was already adjusting the cap with careful fingers, her small hands surprisingly gentle.

"Alright you two, get together!" their mother said, pulling out the old camera she always carried for special occasions. Their father stepped forward, unwrapping Evan's scarf from around his own neck and tying it around Cerce's with practiced fingers.

"One, two, smile!~"

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Click.

..."May our child always have a smile.” ...

...Was written in the back of the photo....

His dream ended quickly ,when the colors were bleeding together like wet paint. The happy scene dissolved into screeching metal, the acrid smell of burning rubber, the coppery tang of blood. He saw flashes - of his parents dripping with blood in the crash. And the people. Those people who looked at them with indifference.

He woke with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around his legs. The alarm on his phone was blaring, the harsh electronic beeps cutting through the silence of the room.

Beep. Beep. Beeep-

His hands shook as he reached to turn it off, the nightmare still clinging to him like a second skin. He sat up slowly, running his hands through his damp hair, trying to steady his breathing. The photo on the nightstand caught his eye - their smiling faces a stark contrast to the darkness of the room.

The phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with notifications.

Three missed calls from CeeCee.

> "Hey, are you alright? You haven't picked up my calls"

He took a deep breath, then another, before picking up the phone. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately.

> "Haha, don't worry, I just went in the shower, what is it? Did something happen?"

The reply came almost instantly.

> "nothing. Just wanted to call. Can you send me those health supplements gummies instead? The pills you give me taste sucks."

He smiled despite himself, the familiar complaint easing some of the tension in his shoulders.

> "Just mail it. You don't need to come over, I've been busy."

> "Alright ^^."

> "kay."

Ceecee is offline...

The room was too quiet again. He stared at the wall, watching as the first light of dawn began to creep through the curtains. The shadows retreated slowly, revealing the familiar shapes of his apartment - the chair piled with clothes, the books stacked haphazardly on the desk, the empty mug from last night's tea.

Time passed without meaning until he found himself standing at the door, keys in hand, the routine of another day pulling him forward. The streets were quiet at this hour, the air still cool from the night. He walked without really seeing, his feet carrying him along the familiar path to Old Lavender.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't see the other person until it was too late. They collided with a soft thud, and Evan stumbled back, landing hard on the pavement.

"Oh sorry- Are you alright? Sorry I wasn't paying attention."

The voice was familiar. Evan looked up, adjusting his glasses, to see the red-haired man from yesterday offering him a hand up. The morning light caught the strands of his hair, turning them almost gold at the tips.

Evan took the offered hand, brushing himself off as he stood. "Oh, It's alright-I wasn't looking either."

The man nodded, his expression serious. "That's good, glad to find that I won't have to pay for any damages, you might sue me about it."

Evan blinked. "I'm sorry-?"

The man's lips twitched. "..Oh- it's a joke, a lawyer joke. Anne was telling me to tell more jokes to make ice breaks. But I guess you need to be a lawyer to understand that." He cleared his throat, his cheeks coloring slightly. "Ah-hem- ah, sorry about that- again, I'll be going now, nice meeting you."

And then he was gone, disappearing down the street with long strides.

Evan stared after him for a moment before shaking his head. 'That's kinda rude,' he thought, but there was no real annoyance behind it. If anything, the absurdity of the encounter had pulled him out of his own head, and for that, he was grateful.

With a small, bemused smile, he pushed open the door to the café, the familiar bell jingling overhead. The smell of fresh coffee washed over him, and for the first time that morning, he felt like he could breathe again.