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Cotyledon moved like a shadow through the overgrown edges of the competition grounds, her form twisted and darkened by the resentment that had birthed her.
She didn’t speak. Words were useless when she wanted everything gone.
Her thorny vines slithered forward, silent and patient. She needed life. She drained it slowly, carefully, until the victim shriveled and stopped. Plants were easiest. Objects took longer, but gave more.
And tonight her target was Fries.
He was sitting alone on a half-broken bench near the edge of the forest clearing, staring at the sky with that same bored, half-lidded expression he always wore. His hands were bruised after a rough session of digging in the dirt for some challenge with no result. Cotyledon’s vines tensed. He looked… full of something. Not happy, exactly. Maybe full of boredom. Alive in a way that made her leaves itch.
She struck.
Thick, dark vines shot from the underbrush and wrapped around his arms and torso, yanking him off the bench and pinning him against a wilted tree. Her main body emerged; darker edges and glowing, empty eyes. She hovered close, one vine curling around his neck, ready to begin the drain.
Fries blinked once. Unimpressed.
“…Huh, ew.” he said, voice flat. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
Cotyledon waited for the fear. The struggling. The screams. She always got one of those.
Instead, Fries just sighed and let his body relax against the bruised vines. “Look, I’m too tired for a murder scene, you know.”
She tilted her head, confused. No panic. No resistance. His energy felt… strangely calm. She pressed a vine against his boxy chest, expecting the familiar rush of life to flow into her.
Nothing happened.
Fries raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’re trying reaally hard. Something wrong?” He asked, sarcasm leaking into his tone.
Cotyledon’s leaves bristled. She squeezed tighter, frustrated. Why wasn’t he draining? Why wasn’t he dying? She had taken stronger objects than him thousands of times before.
Fries yawned. “Look, if you’re hungry or whatever, just say so. Or… do whatever you do. As long as you aren't annoying.”
She stared at him. Really stared. Up close, he smelled faintly of salt and old oil. His eyes were half-lidded, not from fear, but genuine indifference. He wasn’t pretending. He genuinely didn’t seem to care if she ended him right now.
For the first time in a long time since she’d split from Leafy’s pain, Cotyledon hesitated.
She loosened her grip just slightly.
Fries noticed. “What?”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Instead, she slowly lowered him back to the ground, vines still loosely coiled around his wrists. He could easily flee right now if he felt like it.
Fries rubbed his arms where the vines had been. “You know, most people are meaner when they grab me.” He looked at her again. “Huh. Could’ve been worse.”
Cotyledon shook her head. Closest thing to no.
“Didn’t think so. You’ve got that… evil vibe. No offense.”
Her frown turned into a more blank face, though the change was minimal.
He sat back down on the grass, patting the dirty spot beside him. “Sit. Or stand menacingly. Whatever.”
Cotyledon stared at the offered spot like it was a trap. No one had ever invited her to stay. They always ran. Or screamed. Or tried to fight.
After a long moment, she lowered herself beside him; awkward, tense, her body didn’t know how to do this. Her vines stayed near him, trying not to be a threat.
Fries pulled out a cold, stale fry from his box and offered it to her.
She looked at it, then at him.
“You don’t eat, huh?” He shrugged and ate it himself. “Fair.”
They sat in silence. The wind rustled through her leaves. For once, she wasn’t hunting. Wasn't staring just to kill; it was out of her habits.
She reached out with one careful vine and brushed it against his arm, not to take, just to test if it was true. Fries didn’t flinch. He just glanced over.
“First time someone’s hung out with you without you trying to murder them?”
Cotyledon gave a single, slow nod.
Fries leaned back on his hands. “Cool. I’m pretty great company, i know.”
She tapped her chest once with a vine.
He watched. “You got a name? Like, an actual one?”
Another tap. She traced letters in the dirt with a vine tip: “COTYLEDON”
Fries read it. “Cotyledon. That’s a mouthful. Evelyn work?”
She paused… then nodded.
“Evelyn,” he repeated, testing it. “Alright.”
They stayed like that for a long time. Just resting under the shadows that the long trees casted. For the first time since her birth from Leafy’s worst parts, Cotyledon didn’t feel like destroying everything around her.
She felt… curious.
And maybe, just maybe a little less alone.