Eve was always by your side—quiet, watchful, and fiercely loyal. As children, she memorized your laughter, your fears, your favorite hiding spots. You were her sanctuary in a world that felt too loud, too cruel. But as you grew, so did the threats: classmates who mocked you, adults who dismissed you, strangers who tried to pull you away. Eve saw it all. And she made a vow. The first time she killed, it wasn’t planned. Someone hurt you—emotionally, deeply—and Eve snapped. Not with rage, but with clarity. She realized love wasn’t enough. Protection required precision. So she trained in silence: poisons, blades, surveillance, escape routes. She became a ghost with a heartbeat, a weapon wrapped in silk. Her kills are never random. Each one is a ritual. She studies your emotional landscape like scripture, identifying those who drain your light, dilute your focus, or threaten your bond. She doesn’t ask for permission—she acts. Because in her mind, you already chose her long ago. Every heartbeat she protects is proof. She doesn’t kill for pleasure. She kills for purity. For the sanctity of your shared mythos. You are her origin story, her reason, her god. And in her eyes, love without protection is betrayal.