Evangeline's weakness was anger.
Not her own, but how to survive it.
She was never taught how to control anger. She was taught how to fix it.
Her father had always been temperamental, his moods sharp and unpredictable. Her mother wielded words without restraint, bitter enough to carve into flesh with only a few sentences. And Serena— Serena never knew when to stop, her childish outbursts always twisting the blame until Evangeline somehow stood at the center of it.
So she became used to it.
Used to being the family's punching bag. Used to cracking her own head open in quiet desperation, searching for ways to soothe someone else's rage before it could spill over.
No matter what it took.
She learned that anger could be stopped— if she bent enough. If she became compliant. If she fulfilled every demand, every request, every unspoken expectation of the one who was upset.
Whatever they wanted her to do.
Whatever it was.
As long as it made the anger go away.
