Evelyn Stone sat in silence, the only sound in her dimly lit bedroom the soft scratch of her pencil gliding across paper. Her long, black hair flowed down her back like ink spilled in silk sheets, falling over her shoulders as she bent low over her notebook. Her olive green eyes were narrowed in focus, scanning every curve and line with intensity, as if she were chasing something elusive on the page—something buried in memory.
She wasn't sure what she was drawing. Her hand had simply moved on its own when she woke up that morning, like muscle memory born from a dream. The image in her head had been strange and foggy—fleeting—but it left behind a presence. A boy. Blonde hair like golden sunlight, eyes so blue they cut right through her. She didn't recognize him, and yet there was something hauntingly familiar about his face. Something unfinished.
As she put the finishing touch on the sketch, Evelyn leaned back and stared. The boy's face stared back at her from the page, frozen in a moment of intensity she couldn't explain. She didn't know who he was, but the image stirred something inside her—an odd pull, like the world had just tilted a few degrees off balance. Her fingers tingled. Her chest tightened.
It wasn't just the dream—it was the feeling that something big, something life-altering, was about to happen.
A sudden knock and the sound of her bedroom door creaking open jolted her out of her thoughts. She yanked the notebook shut instinctively, just as her mother peeked in.
"Evelyn?" her mother called gently, then smiled with relief. "Thank God you're awake. It's your first day at Royale Academy. Come on, we don't have all day."
Evelyn groaned, her voice muffled by the pillow as she flopped backward onto her bed. "Do I have to though?" she mumbled. "What's wrong with our normal school?"
Her mother sighed with a note of finality, stepping further into the room. "Your normal school burned down, Evelyn. Unsafe chemical engineering practices. Total disaster. The Royales were kind enough to open their gates and let your entire class attend theirs ,until repairs are made. You should be grateful."
Evelyn sat up, brows furrowing. "Since when are the Royales nice? Don't you think it's weird? After years of keeping a perfect, sterile distance from us, they suddenly just… reach out and offer help?"
"You don't have a say in this, sweetheart," her mother said, her tone firm now as she reached for the door. "Freshen up and get dressed. Now." And with that, the door clicked shut behind her.
Evelyn groaned again and collapsed back onto her bed, dragging a pillow over her face. She didn't want to share a hallway, let alone a school, with the Royales.
In her world, people weren't divided by wealth or class or even status—but by something far more shallow. Beauty.
Once upon a time, society lived as one. Things weren't perfect, but people mingled and lived as a united civilization. That all changed when a group of scientists invented a device that would become the beginning of everything wrong: the Thememeter. A small, glowing scanner, sleek and futuristic, it promised to "measure beauty" with absolute objectivity. A number that would define your worth.
At first, people treated it like a fun novelty. A party trick. Many were elated when the Thememeter declared them beautiful, faces glowing with validation. But just as many—if not more—walked away devastated. The machine, cold and unfeeling, told them they weren't good enough. That they didn't measure up. And somehow, that became gospel.
It didn't take long before society began to fracture. The so-called beautiful ones—empowered by their high scores—grew arrogant. Entitled. They started looking down on the others, treating them as inferior, even inhumane. They got special treatment, better opportunities, exclusive neighborhoods. The rest? Marginalized. Forgotten.
Eventually, the divide became official.
The beautiful ones became known as The Royales—glamorous, polished, genetically "perfect." They lived in shining cities beyond high walls and manicured gates. The less beautiful, the ones deemed unworthy by a machine, were labeled The Grims. Cast out, they lived in the neglected parts of the world, where decay and struggle were daily facts of life.
A massive gate now physically separated the Royales from the Grims, a towering wall of steel and white light with guards and scanners and drones. Everything about it screamed: You are not welcome here.
So no, it wasn't hard to figure out that the Grims didn't exactly like the Royales. The bitterness ran deep. And Evelyn, like most Grims, had no desire to pretend that peace was suddenly possible.
Now, as the bus rumbled away from her neighborhood, Evelyn stared out the window at the slowly shifting scenery. The sky seemed brighter here. The grass greener. The further they drove from the Grim district, the more everything started to feel… artificial. Manicured. Like perfection itself had been planted and grown with careful hands.
"I don't believe this," said Riley, her best friend, who sat beside her in their usual spot. She crossed her arms and flipped her curly blonde hair over her shoulder with a huff. "Why now? Who told those snobs we needed their help?"
Riley had been Evelyn's best friend since they were little kids, walking barefoot through cracked sidewalks and shared leftovers. She was fiery, bold, and never afraid to speak her mind.
"Who knows?" Evelyn muttered, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her notebook. "Maybe they actually feel bad about everything. Maybe they're trying to fix things now."
Riley scoffed. "Yeah, right. As if they suddenly grew a conscience."
"Soon as we reach that place," another voice chimed in from the seat behind them, "me and my boys are gonna trash their perfect school."
Jack Jacklyn leaned forward, resting his tattooed arms over the seat. His black leather jacket looked like it belonged to a cartoon villain, and yet, somehow, it suited him. His wild brown hair stuck up in defiance of gravity, and his dark eyes practically glowed with mischief.
"Oh yes! You're such a genius, babe," Riley said, reaching behind her to give him a playful nudge.
It was still weird to Evelyn, seeing Riley with Jack. Back in primary school, Jack had bullied them both. He'd shoved books out of their hands, kicked over their bags, laughed at them with his dumb gang of followers. But somewhere between broken lockers and raging hormones, Riley started dating him. Evelyn had long stopped questioning it.
The bus began to slow, and Evelyn turned back to the window. The landscape had shifted completely. Gone were the chipped sidewalks and smoky air. Here, the grass was so vibrantly green it almost looked fake, and the trees were tall and healthy, blooming with violet flowers she couldn't even name.
It didn't feel real. It felt fake.
Her hand drifted back to the notebook. She could still feel the strange energy from the drawing she'd made—the boy in the dream, staring at her like he knew something she didn't.