AND WHO PRAYS FOR A STORM?

KWON SI HWA. SECOND DAUGHTER OF THE PRIME MINISTER OF SOUTH KOREA.

❝ know the prayer of fury, & know more that it has always belonged to you. but be careful. it will only make you hungrier. ❞

         she was right.

         rules were all-consuming,   almighty binding and it was upon first instinct for zhaohui to turn the other way when presented with something as constricting as a set of rules.

         so,   a hand presents itself at his collar,   pulling until the fabric has come off and is discarded on the back of the couch.     “   y’know,   if i had known that this was your plan from the start,   we could have just skipped all this pretense.   ”       

          “   but if this is how we’re playing   –   let’s raise the stakes.   ”

          if she wanted him honest,   it was only fair she’d do the same.

⊹  ˚  .  

“ raise the stakes. ”  she repeats the words, tasting them like a slow, insidious poison upon the tongue.

for a moment, sihwa declines to meet his eyes, the fabric of his shirt disappearing from her peripheral as it is thrown away. and not for the first time, she wonders if either of them will survive this — this game that seemed to be without beginning or end; mutually assured destruction — a snake consuming its own tail.

her fingers linger upon the fabric of her own shirt, fabric dark and solemn. 

is that something our mother picked out for you? her older sister had asked, weeks ago. 

she crosses her arms and pulls at the hem of the shirt, up and over her head — until it too is thrown away. 

perhaps there is some relief to giving into destruction.

“So long as it’s not Californian,” she ushers Sihwa inside like an old friend or a long lost sister (and not at all the stilted, awkward way she treats her brother) and the dogs rush to greet her in much the same manner, sniffing at her expensive shoes. “Well I hope these shoes are Miu Miu,” Mimi quips, but calls the dogs off in sharp French before they can really destroy the leather. “Are you a dog person?” She strikes as somehow feline. Mimi gestures for Sihwa to follow her into the living room, and shuts the door on the dogs. Except Chinchy, who is small enough and ballsy enough to slip in behind them. He climbs a small, velvet-lined ramp onto an armchair, and watches the women from there. Mimi gestures Sihwa to sit - on a sofa as far from Chinchy as possible - and goes about pouring a couple of glasses of wine. “I think I saw you in Brazil? It was so hard tell amongst the crowds.” And while everyone was wearing almost nothing. “I wanted to come ask you about your first impressions of the programme. You’ve certainly been…thrown into it.” A week of parties then a kidnapping! Sihwa has excellent timing.

she follows mimi inside, flinching at the multitude of dogs that rush through to jump and nip at her legs.  “ no — i’m barely a people person, ”  she murmurs in response, half-joking, though she still bends down to pat the head of a particularly energetic one — albeit stiffly. the animals are only mildly discomfiting, if only because sihwa isn’t accustomed to being greeted with such excitement.  ( and, for a moment, she considers getting a dog of her own — though she would never admit it aloud. )   “ and certainly not a miu miu person. ”

she had mulled over it — the extent to which she wanted to appease the princess. but she’d be foolish to think that her blooming friendship was anything other than transactional. people like dominique grimaldi could find better entertainment than socializing with a mere politician’s daughter. no — what mimi wanted was the same as what dianna yi had wanted — gossip. in a town of clustered houses and bored royals, information was perhaps the most valuable currency of all. 

RUNNING ONLY GETS INTERESTING FOR SO LONG when it’s the same loop of houses and streets to follow, and without samson running beside him, sten has a hard time focuses on it. halfway through his second loop he had given up running entirely, this time enjoying the chilled air as he briskly walks the streets. his eyes narrow slightly when he sees a figure a ways a away, but it’s not until he’s closer that he recognizes her, studied expression going slack. sten thinks she’ll ignore her, to turn around and go into the house she had just come out of, but by the time she notices him it’s clearly too close to run.

he can’t remember when he saw her last, only how long it’s been since. he remembers the tabloids and the rumors swirling about them for a good week or two, only for them to get tossed aside for the next big piece of celebrity gossip. it helped that they were never seen with each other again, a question sten never got an answer to.

“ hey, ”   he smiles slightly as he approaches her, feeling more cautious than anything. of all the ghosts from his past he’s encountered since joining the program, sihwa is the biggest question mark.   “ sorry, i’m all sweaty, i’m taking a break from my run, ”   he glances down at himself, a little self-conscious.   “ ah, is this place yours ?   i didn’t know you were here. ”

“ it is. ”  and then:  “ i am. ”  her delivery is a rough caricature of her usual bravado, words stilted and posture stiff. 

for a moment, she considers simply turning around and pretending their interaction never happened. a breach of social niceties, perhaps — but it wouldn’t be a feeling sten was unfamiliar with. regret was, after all, not the same as remorse. perhaps they’d even be better off — to let the skeletons in the past stay in the closet, collecting dust instead of aired out in the open, able to pierce tender flesh with their splintered bones. 

“ i— ”  a pause in which she forces herself to tear her gaze away from his.  “ would you like to come in? ”  a small smile.  “ i have water, ”  she finishes lamely.  “ it’s infused. ” 

sihwa turns to make her way to the door without waiting for his reply, hand on the knob when she twists around again abruptly, as if afraid that, in the time she looked away, he had disappeared into the air, a mere apparition from her past. she isn’t sure what she hopes for — only that the look in her eyes softens slightly it’s confirmed that he is, in fact, real. 

there’s a small, self-deprecating smile within her words when she speaks next.

         “   it suits you.   ”

         a pristine imitation,   should she be insulted or relieved    —   what hurt less,    what made her care less.    did she even care at all ?    isn’t this what being a kwon was supposed to be    —    an ‘ all that apply ’ catch-all to lead all agglomeration.    a clandestine resolve without a hint of consideration for the feelings they both kept so heavily buried seven feet under.    it’s no wonder yihwa finds it easy to slip back and forth between the folds,    a person she used to be and the person she is now.    she wonders what repulses sihwa more.    

         it was an easy answer for yihwa to which sihwa applied    —    

         a mere replication in comparison to the original showed her that in the masses.   no fine print needed.  

        they were girls when the fine print no longer applied to them    —    a being of perfection,   cracks hidden by their mother’s sharp vernacular and calculating eye.   mouths just above the surface:   a struggle for air,   a struggle to stay above what both their mother and father deemed as acceptable.   it was unattainable,   absurd to put on girls who were mere mortals playing as beings who belonged among the heavens.    it inflated a sense of ego,   one that never went away.

         (   it also left a piece of resentment,   lingering    )

         “  i don’t hate them.  ”    yihwa answers simply,   this much is true.     “  i just prefer to live my life without them.  ”    controlling her every move,   every breath   —   hands on her throat,   strings tied to her joints,   miming her life until her very last.     “   i had once thought you shared that same sentiment.   ”

          but sihwa had always made a point to prove her wrong time and time again.

she can only laugh. 

it’s a bitter, choked sound — years of longing stuck in the throat and forced to be swallowed down whole; hope rusted and decayed until it is unrecognizable from the blood every time she has to bite back her desperation. 

was her older sister so dense as to think that they were the same? that they felt the same? 

or was yihwa just like their parents — looking at her little sister through a fog of her own perfume? she remembered the years after yihwa had left — the first time her father had looked at her. 

except it was never at her, but rather, through her. 

as if seeking the shadow of his eldest daughter.

she supposed it should have offended her; should have enraged her. that she had helped her father win an entire presidency, the ever-obedient and diligent daughter, but he still accidentally called her the wrong name. and maybe it did. but that much could be swallowed down; it didn’t matter that he looked through her — as long as he looked in her direction. 

She knows of Kwon Sihwa, enough to recognize her. The way she stares at her is enough for Mai to conclude she’s here for Zhaohui, too, because come on, who doesn’t know she and Zhaohui have history?

Odd, is the first thing that comes to her mind at how weirdly calm and quiet she is, but the words she says are music to her ears, ones she’s used to hearing. “You’re very lovely! Thank you. I don’t think we’ve met before. You are?” Her tone is purposely and effortlessly laced with kindness. She’ll pretend she doesn’t know her name for her own reasons.

“ sihwa. ” 

she’s not surprised that mai doesn’t know her — and it’s just as well. as charming as the thai princess is, she has long decided that she’d rather be unknown than to be known for her personal entanglements. 

she glances at the door, then back at the woman in front of her.  “ the person you’re looking for — i’d bet he went through the back window and is halfway across town by now. ” 

it isn’t jealousy that prompts the next question. no — jealousy implies a certain amount of entitlement; some narrative that can be defined. jealousy implies a certain amount of love. but her relationship with zhaohui had never made it that far. 

          he should have known   —   it was just like sihwa to take any part of him she could get.    sometimes,   it felt like she clawed her way into more than he could ever give.

         “   don’t tell me you pre-gamed before you got here or do we need to go over the rules    –   one thing at a time.   ”

         he looks to her,    at her rather than through her.   at least zhaohui was still of sober mind.

         “   choose one.   ”

sihwa glances at the bottle sitting on the table and scoffs lightly before her eyes return to him. 

(  pick your poison, she’d often heard people say.  )

(  she chooses him.  )

“ and when have we ever cared to play with by the rules? ”

she’s unsure of why she does this — pushes and prods at him as if their ending hasn’t already been determined. what does it mean that the knife so cleanly fits into the wound? 

she holds his gaze.

“ damn, sometimes it’s better to lie than to embarrass yourself, kwon sihwa. ” maybe it was unfair: san had so many siblings, learning his extended family was too much work for someone who was only a sister-in-law. “ don’t worry, we’re not too picky about the crowd. you’ll find us in the evening if you just follow the music. ”

it takes her a moment.

a moment when she realizes and her fists clench slightly at her sides, nails digging into tender flesh. she can almost feel her father’s steely gaze — not of disappointment or even disapproval — but rather, expectant. amused. as all along she had been nothing but a child attempting to walk in her older sister’s shoes. always destined to trip on her own feet. 

“ i am, ”  the words are stilted,  “ embarrassed. ”

sihwa has every intention of ending the conversation, taking half a step away before she turns right back, the movement abrupt. 

“ sten. ” 

she hates to admit that she’s been avoiding this very moment. 

she’s known of his presence within the program, catching glimpses of him at this event and that, the perpetual ghost from her past; a blurred mirage of the last time she’d seen him — made into flesh if only she’d reach and place a finger on its fragile silhouette. 

she didn’t. 

because the last time she’d seen him, they’d been laughing, shoulders light and cheeks pink under a sky that had darkened too many moons ago. 

she’d thought he looked like the sun, back then — golden hair and eyes shining, freckles made from light — so much that when he smiled at her, it took all she had not to look away, like a flower that bloomed under the sun but could not bear the strength of its full beam.

         it is said that normalcy is only ever present for the ignorant.

         it is in zhaohui’s best interest that he stay ignorant,   avoidant of such pains that would otherwise disrupt his daily life.    he was not one of the damaged,   but he walked as if he had been severed as such.    he wonders if it had become even apparent to someone as usually uncaring as sihwa was.

         why else would she have invited him over like this   —   the space between them too wide,   the air around them too volatile.    he knew he was walking landmines the moment he had stepped past her doorstep.

         but was it truly ignorance or was it avoidance that fueled his reaction:

        “  dare.   ”     

         avoidance,   it is.

somehow, the dare comes too easily, too quickly — though she isn’t sure whether it is because it has been on the tip of her tongue or stuck in the back her throat and forced out in a moment of recklessness.  

“ be honest with me. ” 

either way, the aftertaste of the words is the kind of bitter she has to hold tight between her teeth, lips pulling back in a smile that borders on self-deprecating. 

“ and, ”  sihwa drawls out the word, plopping down on her couch,  “ take off your shirt. ”  the smile is lighter this time, playful. a spoonful of sugar to sweeten medicine’s acerbity. 

it is perhaps a second too late that she realizes she should have looked up from her phone before stepping onto the porch of zhaohui’s house. 

mai mahidol. 

she recognizes the girl, though she wishes she didn’t. 

         a bemused facade settles across the face;  where she had thought she would be able to get a small speck of respite,   she should have known it would only be wishful thinking when she had found out her sister was along for the trip.   an oddity considering whom she had come to the program for was 10, 817 miles away from where they stood.  but it was neither here nor there to get in that right now,   the subject of her ire wasn’t even here right now.

         no,   even if sihwa was here to rain on her parade,   she was still going to enjoy it   —   maybe carry an umbrella lest she continue to shower yihwa in her ever-present resentment.    

     it would be nothing new to them.

         so when she presents a smile,   pushing her own guilt from the cliff of her consciousness,   she wonders if it pierces sihwa,  too.     “  not quite,   but it is what our family forced me into.  ”     she does little hide her own thoughts now,   it was only them,   no pretense to be had that she was still san’s darling wife-to-be who was oh-so in love with him.

         it was sihwa,   sihwa knew the truth.  (  yet still carried on trying to curry his favor  )

          “  you look pretty.   is that something our mother picked out for you ?  ”     for it hardly suited their current setting   –   it had too much collar.

“ it could be. ”

she knows that it was intended as an insult. but sihwa isn’t able to stop the pride that injects itself into her tone; the way her posture straightens ever-so-slightly — as if their very mother was present, her serpentine eyes taking note of every imperfection in her veneer. 

she knows that it was intended as an insult — but how could it be, to the girl who had spent her entire life searching for crumbs of affection and acceptance in the space her older sister had left behind? 

she would never understand how yihwa could so easily throw away everything sihwa had ever prayed for.