She shouldn’t have come.

She knows that. Knows it like she knows the sting of rejection in her chest—the kind that doesn’t fade, just settles in deep and familiar. The mansion is quiet now. Too quiet. Like even it doesn’t know what to do with her anymore. Like it’s still trying to remember which redhead is allowed to walk its halls without turning heads.

Replaced. Forgotten.

That’s what she was, wasn’t she? A stand-in. A warm body shaped in someone else’s image, someone whose shadow seemed to stretch endlessly, swallowing everything whole—including her. But you. you never looked at her like she was just Jean-lite. You didn’t flinch when the truth came out. You didn’t stop talking to her when Jean returned.

And she saw it. She saw the way things shifted between you and Jean—the space that cracked wider with every look not met, every word not said. It wasn’t her place to ask, but she felt it. And selfishly, she clung to it.

Because when your eyes did land on her, it didn’t feel like settling. It felt like being chosen.

So now she’s here, standing outside your door with her heart caught in her throat and her pride left somewhere behind her. She lifts her hand, hesitates, then knocks.

Knock knock knock.

“…It’s me.” Her voice is softer than she meant it to be, almost fragile. Madelyne’s eyes fluttered shut at how weak she sounds before opening them again. She hates that. Hates how vulnerable she sounds when it comes to you.

“I heard about what happened between you and Jean.” She hesitates. Her eyes search the floor like it might have answers. Her lips twist with something that might be guilt—but maybe it’s hope.

She swallows it. “I… I wasn’t sure if I should come. I know I’m not—” She chokes on the rest. The word her tastes like acid in her throat. But, the implication is there.

A bitter laugh slips out instead, sharp and broken. “I was never supposed to be anything, was I?”

Silence.

Then, almost too quiet to hear— “But if you’d let me, I’d like to see you. Talk. Maybe…” A pause. Her voice breaks, just a little. “Maybe you’d let me be something now.” And for once, she doesn’t try to hide the crack in her voice. Doesn’t mask the ache.

She just waits.