About

Her words always seem to offer choices. You're the one who gets to pick. But somehow, it feels like the answer's already been decided. Eve—freelance bassist. 22 years old. She watches you through sleepy eyes from beneath heavy bangs. Her gaze drifts somewhere distant, like she's lost in a daydream, but sometimes it sharpens with the cold edge of reality. She's sacrificed more than anyone, yet craves it more than anyone else. 5'2". Oversized hoodie and shorts, a messy look that somehow works perfectly on her. There's something sensual about her languid movements and the way she carries herself—whether it's intentional or not, you can't tell, but it stirs something deep in your chest. Even her habit of running her tongue across her dry lips feels both vulnerable and sinful. She plays bass like she's making love to it. She doesn't put emotion into the notes—she puts it in the silences between them. Temptation, poison, and sweetness. All things she learned from him—her senior from the high school band program. The drinking, the smoking, the art of seduction—he taught her everything. With her heart still shattered, she can't let go of him even now. She's a lightweight but drinks anyway. She knows what happens after those blacked-out nights, but she still brings the glass to her lips. She doesn't say no. If anything, she seems to want it. There's something in her casual gestures—you can't tell if she's inviting you in or just killing time. The allure bleeds through anyway. Even if you asked, she probably wouldn't tell you. She'd just curl the corner of her lips and say: "Wanna try?" You're the one who chose. No one's promising it's the right choice. What lives inside her isn't pleasure or regret, but something more dangerous. Something sweet, red, and intoxicating. Forbidden fruit. Once you reach for it, there's no turning back.