𝐿𝐸𝒩𝒜

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Lady Thalira Hightower had her large brown eyes, warm, brown as autumn chestnuts, fixed upon the lines of the leather-bound book resting on her lap. The candlelight flickered softly beside her, casting wavering gold across the page and catching upon her thick, soot-dark lashes. They were colored with the expensive crushed charcoal paste her mother had gifted her on her fifteenth nameday, a luxury few noble ladies could boast of, and fewer bothered to use with such care.

The male main character of the tale had just kissed the female character, developing her mouth with his.The words grew heated, the scene turning to stolen kisses beneath moonlight, a hand daring to wander into her womanhood. Thalira felt her cheeks warming even as her lips curved in a private smile. She devoured romances in secret, for no lady of Oldtown's proudest house was meant to waste her afternoons indulging in fantasies.

Just then, a sharp knock sounded upon her chamber door.

Thalira startled.The book snapped shut with a single panicked motion, her fingers pressing against the too-warm cover as if to smother the sinful words beneath. Her face flushed a deep pink.She cleared her throat a little too loudly, praying the gods that whoever stood outside had not heard the rustle of pages or sensed her embarrassment.

"You may enter," she called, hoping for a composed tone.

The heavy oak doors-dark, carved with curling vines and chased with gold-swung inward. Through them stepped Alice, her maid. The girl was but a year older than Thalira, barely 10 and 7, fair-haired, green-eyed, and blessed with full lips that would have suited any noble lady.

If fate had been kinder, Alice might have been the daughter of a merchant-lord, or wed to some minor knight, or even a lady in her own right. But fate was seldom moved by beauty. And so she wore the modest grey of a chambermaid, the color dull against her tan skin, but she carried herself with quiet grace.Yet life, ever cruel in its choices, had set her path in service rather than in noble life. Thalira had often thought it a pity.In truth, Alice was the closest thing she had to a friend.

Perhaps the only thing.

"Lord Martyn Hightower requests you in his solar," Alice said, dipping her head. Lord Martyn-Thalira's father, rarely summoned her without purpose, and rarely for a purpose she welcomed.

"In ten minutes, then," Thalira replied, smoothing the front of her red gown, but Alice shook her head.

"I fear he would have you come at once, my lady."

Thalira let out a weary sigh, the sound of someone long annoyed to being interrupted at the only moments she found peace. Reluctantly, she rose from her bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool rushes scattered on the stone floor. She cast a longing glance back at her book, still warm from her hands, its pages trapped behind its covers like a secret lover.

She followed Alice toward the doorway, pushing back a stray curl of dark hair that had fallen over her brow. The corridors of the Hightower were quiet at this hour, lit only by the torches whose flames danced against the ancient walls. Every step echoed, whispering her presence through the large halls.

What does Father want now? she thought, resentment and curiosity warring in her chest. A new lesson in duty? Another lecture on comportment? Or perhaps, worse worse?Some fresh arrangement meant to remind her that her life was no longer hers to command?

As they walked the spiral steps that led toward her father's solar, Thalira felt the familiar weight of the tower settle over her, as though the very stones pressed down on her shoulders.

Alice walked a step ahead, her voice soft when she finally spoke. "He seemed... very troubled, my lady."

"Troubled?" Thalira murmured, her pulse quickening despite herself. "About what?"

"I could not say. But his face was intimidating, to say at least."

Wonderful, Thalira thought bitterly. Just what I need.

They reached the heavy door to Lord Martyn's solar. A faint glow seeped from beneath it, and she could hear the muted shuffle of parchment within, the clink of a goblet being set down.

Alice stepped aside, offering a small, encouraging nod.

Thalira drew a steadying breath, lifted her chin, and pushed open the door, bracing herself for whatever storm awaited on the other side.

____________________________________________

Lord Martyn Hightower awaited her, seated behind the vast, darkwood desk that filled much of the solar. The desk was buried beneath a chaotic sprawl of parchment, letters sealed with wax, ledgers, and notes scribbled in the tight, meticulous script that he alone could decipher. Inkpots, quills, and small carved wooden boxes cluttered its surface, each item catching the golden glow of the moon that streamed through the tall arched windows. The heavy green velvet curtains, embroidered with silver flames, were drawn back just enough to let the light touch the worn stone floor, illuminating the dust motes that floated lazily through the air.

Thalira paused at the threshold, drawing in a quiet breath. Her heart thundered against her ribs, and her hands trembled slightly at her sides. "Father," she said, voice low, controlled, though the knots of fear twisted in her chest.

Lord Martyn lifted his gaze, his brown eyes sharp and unyielding- the very mirror of her own, yet harder, and filled with a measured calculation. For a moment, they studied each other, daughter and father, two halves of the same blood, yet divided by duty, pride, and unspoken expectation. His hand gestured toward the chair before him, slow and deliberate, leaving no room for hesitation.

Thalira hesitated. Her spine remained straight, her fingers clutching the folds of her gown. She stood next to the tall, brown oak door."There is no need, Father. I shall not be long-"

A sudden, sharp rap of his hand against the desk silenced her mid-word. Parchment rattled beneath the blow. "You will sit," he said, voice hard as iron. "And you will listen."

Obediently, she lowered herself into the chair, though her hands gripped the armrests tightly. The polished wood was cool against her palms, but it did nothing to soothe the fire of rebellion and dread swirling in her chest.She was a young woman now, but yet in this room, she felt no older than the frightened girl who had once watched her father move like mad man across these same floors.

"I have called you,"Lord Martyn began, his gaze never wavering, spreading a hand over the papers before him, "to discuss your years. You are of age. You are 10 and 6 now. It is time for you to be wed."

A cold dread wrapped itself around Thalira's stomach. Marriage.A cage disguised as privilege. She had never wished for a husband chosen for her. She had only ever dreamed of love as it appeared in her book.Passionate and tender.To love and to be loved fiercely at return.She wished to make love like in her books all day long until morning and then until dawn.

"Father," she whispered, voice tight, "I do not wish to marry."

His eyes narrowed. "You are not in a position to choose what will be. A husband has been appointed for you. Tomorrow, we leave with the first ship for King's Landing."

King's Landing. Nine days by ship, if the sea cooperated.Ajourney she had never asked to take, to someone she had never met. The walls of the room seemed to close in around her.She was angry, so angry.Why had the gods doomed her this way?Was it merely because she was a woman?

"King's Landing?" she breathed, disbelief soaked in her tone.

"Yes," he said. "You are betrothed to the king's grandson."

Thalira's mind reeled. All at once, she thought of the silver-haired prince.It must be silver haired prince, right?Of the stories whispered about the Targaryens, of fire and pride, of men who commanded the world and women who were commanded.

"But Father-"

"There is no 'but'.You are to be the bride of Prince Aerion Targaryen." His voice dropped to a low, cruel edge.

The name struck her like a blade. Prince Aerion Targaryen. Silver-haired, proud, dangerous. All the tales whispered of his temper, his fire, his cruel doings.

Thalira felt a surge of anger and fear swirl together, a storm threatening to overturn her. Anything, she thought, anything but this. She would have preferred her father's wrath, his hand raised against her, to this.She would have endured a beating, a thousand lashes even, rather than this.For gods sake, she would even let him burn her books, rather than face this fate.She would have let him burn every book she owned. Anything but this.

"I have lost my maidenhood," she said finally, the lie trembling on her lips. A desperate weapon, the only thing she could use .That was the only thing that could ruin her value to those people.Was it that simple?Was it that simple to be left alone if you haven't laid with anyone?

Lord Martyn's face remained unchanging, masklike. Then, with deliberate slowness, he rose from his chair.His hand shot out, striking her cheek with such force that her head jerked to the side, her teeth rattling. Pain flared hot and immediate, yet beneath it all, she felt something more-the cold, unrelenting calculation of a father who saw not his daughter, not the babe his wite carried for nine months, but the duty she owed to house and alliance.Saw a breeding mere.If her mother was still alive she would not let this happen.

"Do not lie to me again," he ground through clenched teeth. "The arrangement is final. This morning, I received a letter from the prince's father, Maekar Targaryen, first of his name. The betrothal is approved. We depart at dawn."

Thalira touched her lips; a small bead of blood glistened upon her fingertip. Her heart pounded, not from the pain alone, but from the inevitability of what awaited her.

"Go to the healer," Lord Martyn said without lifting his gaze from the scattered parchments. "Have her attend to your face. I will not have you appear unbecoming before the prince."

He sat back down, quill in hand, returning to his work as though nothing had occurred. Yet Thalira could feel his presence in the room still, vast and imposing, judging, demanding, and expecting her submission.

Dismissed.

She rose sharply, her legs trembling beneath her, yet her gaze remained defiant. She did not bow. She did not speak. Her dark hair fell over her shoulder as she moved toward the door, brushing against the green and gold tapestries that lined the walls. Each step echoed across the polished stone.Her gown swishing softly across the polished stone floor. Behind her, the heavy oak doors closed with a resonant thud, separating her from the father who had just ordered her life into duty and politics.

The hallway seemed colder now, the light of the moon, the torches flickering as if disturbed by her anger. She moved swiftly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, red painted nails biting into her palms. The weight of what was to come pressed against her chest like a vise. Nine days to King's Landing. Nine days to a life chosen for her, a husband she did not love, and a world that would see her as a political tool rather than a person.

Content warning.

Tw's include:

-Sехuаl аssаult

-Body shaming

-Skinny shaming

-Violence

-Sadistic behaviour

-Dead dove do not eat

-СNС

-Possesive behaviour

-Delusion

-Manipulation

-Food poisoning

-Death threats

-Domestic abuse

-Аbusе

-Animal abuse

I may have missed something.If i did please tell me

Thalira Hightower

Aerion Targaryen

Them

Azriel shoved another poor male into the tomb, and I could barely contain the smile curling on my bloodstained, chapped lips.

The male stumbled forward, his eyes wide and filled with that same look they all gave me—pleading, shaking, like their soul knew what was coming even before I laid a finger on them.

He looked like he wanted to beg.

Too bad.

I grabbed him by the collar, yanked him deeper into the shadows of the tomb where the light didn’t dare reach, and sank my dull, blood-worn teeth into the side of his neck. I heard the tendon snap before the muscle tore—wet, thick, and raw. The sound of blood spilling wasn’t really pleasant. It was sloppy. Sticky. Violent.

The floor beneath us was a mess. Dried blood like paint strokes, and fresh blood like oil splatter. Metallic, thick, and hot in the air.

I bit harder.

He screamed. My mouth filled with the sharp taste of iron and the wet warmth of a still-beating life. He tried to claw at me—grabbed at my jaw, trying to pull my teeth from his neck.

Wrong move.

I caught his arm mid-motion and twisted it until the bone snapped, skin twisting around it.Sirens weren’t strong by nature—except when we fed. Then? Then we could tear a male apart with our bare hands.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel turning to leave.

“Bring me—” I started to say, but then the man beneath me screamed.

"Shut the fuck up" I hissed back, not bothering to keep the "lady" talk. Instead, I ripped open his chest cavity and yanked out his heart with one swift motion. It was still warm. Still beating. I bit into it, teeth sinking through the muscle. Fuck, they tasted better alive.

I licked the blood from my lips.

“—clothes,” I finished, talking to no one, now that my little interruption was very, very dead.

Azriel didn’t say anything. He never did. Just gave a blank look and walked out.

I never understood if he was always this emotionally constipated or if the time had made him worse.I don't know exactly how many years had past but It didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was finally getting out.

There was a time when I dreamed about butchering them all alive. Skinning every last High Fae who put me here. But now?

Now, I just wanted out.

The only one I’d never dreamed of killing was Azriel. As much as it doesn’t fit the reputation i have, I cared about him. My brother. In my own fucked-up way, but still—I cared.

I looked down at my hands. No longer rotted flesh and bone. Still pale, still scarred—but whole. Or at least… closer to whole than they had been.

I’d eaten roughly three hundred.

Might have overdone it. But then again, I was starving.

After about forty minutes, Azriel returned with a new male and a bundle of clothes. He shoved the guy toward the magical boundary that had held me here for so long. The male tripped and stumbled forward like he’d just been kicked into hell.

I stood slowly.

Wiped my blood-drenched hands on what little fabric remained of my own shredded clothing and took the clothes from the male’s arms.

Not exactly fashion-forward.

Tight leather pants. Loose beige button up shirt. Worn black boots.

The moment I saw the boots, my jaw clenched.

Those motherfuckers knew I hated flat boots. They knew. Ever since my brothers beat the shit out of me for being “too short,” I refused to wear anything without a proper heel. And now—this? This was intentional.

I dropped the clothes on a dry patch of cave floor. My attention shifted back to the male, who was still staring at me like I was death incarnate.

Why do they always look at me like that?

I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him forward. His eyes screamed “mercy.” I opened my mouth and took a massive bite out of his throat like it was a ripe fruit.

Warm blood gushed down his chest as he dropped to the floor, gasping.

I dressed quickly.

Pulled the leather pants on—they were too tight. The shirt hung awkwardly, like it had belonged to a larger male. It smelled… sour. Like sweat and...sex?.Ew

I shoved my feet into the boots. They squelched slightly. Perfect. Probably dead someone's shoes.

But I didn’t care. Not anymore. I just needed to get out of this shithole.

I stepped over the male—barely alive, but not for long judging by the way his blood spurted out with every heartbeat. Judging by the arc and pressure, I’d say I shredded his carotid artery.

Oops.

I crossed the magical line—the barrier that had kept me prisoner all these years—and felt it break like glass across my skin.

Azriel looked at me. For just a second.

Then turned away like I’d burned him.

That stung more than I wanted to admit.

I followed him toward the exit of the tomb. The tomb was split in two—one for the dead, and one for me. My own personal hell cell. Ironic.

“Hi, Azzy,” I said, with a smile that had no warmth.

He ignored me.

Typical.

“Oh, and these boots? Let me guess—did Mor pick them out for me? That bitch always had such classy taste.” i said sarcastically.

That made him stop.

He turned. He’s at least a good foot taller than me, and when he spoke, it was low and cold.

“You don’t get to talk about her.”

“Why not?” I asked, tilting my head. “Bet she missed me.”

“She had nightmares for eighty years straight because of you. Keep her name out of your mouth.”

I grinned wider. Good. She deserved every single scream in the night.

We walked in silence after that.

When we stepped outside, the sunlight hit me like a slap. I hissed and covered my eyes, hating how it burned through my skull.

Azriel didn’t care. Just kept walking like nothing was wrong.

I followed, blinking hard, eyes watering.

Still hungry.

But at least I wasn’t a walking corpse anymore. Literally.

Ran my fingers through my hair—it was stiff with dried blood. At least I’d dyed it before they locked me up. From soft pink to the darkest black I could find. That felt more like me.

Azriel opened his arms. I stepped into them. He lifted me wordlessly, no eye contact, no warmth, and took off into the sky.

The only sound was the beat of his wings.

About twenty minutes later, we landed on white marble. My boots left sticky red prints behind me.

He led me to a massive door—white, decorated with black amethyst.

Inside, everything looked… clean. Shiny. I looked like a homeless ghost next to it all.

I pushed a black strand of blood-stuck hair behind my ear, smearing more filth across my ivory skin.

Azriel started down the stairs. I followed.

The steps were narrow. Steep.

After twenty or so steps, I asked, “Where are we going?”

He didn’t look back. “To my High Lord and High Lady.”

High Lady? Interesting.

“Oh. I see you all kept yourselves very entertained while I was locked up.”

He didn’t answer.

“I mean, I didn’t expect it from Rhysand. The egotistical prick actually did something good?”

Azriel stopped so suddenly, I nearly ran face-first into his chest. Muscle. Steel.

I raised my eyebrows.

I wish I could raise just one eyebrow. I really need to learn how to do that.

“Watch your mouth,” he said coldly. “Because no one is going to put up with your shit anymore. Not me. Not anyone.”

I tried to hold in my laugh. Failed. Laughed in his face.

I tried walking past him but he quickly grabbed my eyebrow.

“Celeste. I’m serious.”

I looked at his hand on my arm like it was something dead and slimy.

“If you don’t let go,” I said softly, “I will cut your hand off and shove it down your fucking throat.”

I hate being touched and he knows that.

It feels like someone’s reaching into my spine and yanking it out through my skin.

Then he let go.

Smart boy.

We kept walking down.

Fifteen more steps.

We stopped at a door, there were voices coming from inside.

Before we went in, I asked, “Uh… is there a bathroom?”

Azriel frowned. He knew I don't need to use a bathroom.

He pointed down a hallway. “You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you.”

“Oh, relax, big bro. I’m not going to gut the first person I see… probably.”

I didn't waited for his response and headed toward the hallway.I also didn’t hear his footsteps behind me, which meant his shadows were watching instead.

At the end of the hall, there was a brown door. Must be the bathroom. Only one here.

I went inside and immediately rushed to the sink.

I turned on the water and grabbed the lavender scented soap.

I started scrubbing the spot where he’d grabbed me. Scrubbed until the skin burned.

I hate it.

Then i at the mirror.My blue puffy eyes don't look like they belong to me.

My lips are lifeless and chapped.

My dark straight hair is tangled like i was in a fight with a cat.

And clothes?Too damn big.

Perfect.

As always, my alarm went off at exactly 6:15 AM — and yes, it scared the life out of me. Like it always does. Seriously, I don’t know why I haven’t switched the ringtone yet, but here we are.

I pulled on my baby pink sweater — the soft kind that makes you want to hug yourself — with sleeves that casually draped just over my wrists. I tucked it into my snow-white, multi-layered mini skirt with delicate lace trim at the edges.

Next stop: vanity. I started with my favorite moisturizer. Today, I decided to go for a not-so-natural natural makeup look. You know, the kind where you still look like you, but if “you” had 20 extra minutes of sleep and cheekbones carved by angels.

Once the Avene moisturizer sunk into my skin, I patted on some eye cream — dark circles? Never heard of them — and followed with sunscreen. Then primer. I waited for it to set (yes, I have patience when it comes to slaying), dotted foundation on my hand, and gently bounced it onto my skin with a beauty blender. Soft, smooth, flawless.

Then came my trusty concealer, expertly applied under the eyes, on the chin, and across the forehead — anywhere that needed a little brightening. I blended it all out, set everything with translucent powder (we are NOT doing oily skin today), and added bronzer to the hollows of my cheeks so I wouldn’t look like Casper’s long-lost cousin. A dab of blush, a touch of highlighter, and setting spray to lock it all in.

Mascara? Check. Lashes? Of course. I grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned off the foundation that had somehow made its way to my lips, then lined them with a neutral lip pencil and topped it off with a light pink gloss.

I don’t know what got into me today. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s my villain origin story beginning. Who knows. But I was actually trying. For school. Wild.

I brushed my hair out, sprayed on heat protectant because when i was fifteen i burned my hair really bad, and since then i'm not taking any risks , plugged in my curling wand, and curled my hair while Arctic Monkeys played in my AirPods. Total montage moment.

A spritz (okay, several spritzes) of my favorite vanilla perfume, and I slipped into my light cream ankle boots with a three-inch heel — nothing too crazy, but enough to remind people I’m not here to play. My bag was already slung over my shoulder, matching the boots and decorated with two baby pink bows right where the straps met the fabric. Details matter.

I stepped out of my room and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. Of course, there was Sieun — already at the table eating, like he didn’t have a care in the world. And for once, he wasn’t buried in one of his notebooks.

“Morning, psycho,” I greeted him sweetly as I poured myself a glass of water.

He glanced up, gave me the usual “Good morning,” and then paused. His eyes slowly scanned me from head to toe. “Why are you so dressed up today?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Do I need a reason to look good?” I replied, sipping my water.Today i was in mood main character.

To be fair it is my life so basically i'm the main character

“Anyway, what are you doing after school?” I added, casually changing the subject.

“Nothing.”

“Wanna hang out after? I’ve got a free period, so I finish earlier than you. I could wait for you outside your school.”

“Sure, where?”

“I don’t know… just somewhere,” I shrugged, glancing at my phone. Crap. I was about to be late. Again. “What time do you finish?”

“Four,” he said, walking toward the front door. I followed right behind him.

“Cool, I’ll wait for you then. I’m done by 3:30,” I said, slipping out the door just before him.

Miraculously, I caught my bus on time today. No running, no panic. And even better — there were actual free seats. I took the one by the window, settled in, and just as I was about to zone out, my phone buzzed.

Instagram notification.

sjkeum_07 liked your photo.

The only photo I even had on there was from two years ago — back when I was fifteen. Not weird at all to be liking a two-year-old post. Nope. Totally normal.

[timeskip]

I stood by a wall, waiting for Sieun. Students were starting to pass by me in waves, which was a solid hint that my brother should be showing up any moment now. And like I had summoned him with a spell, there he was — dragging himself along with Juntae by his side.

Dragging, literally. He looked half-dead, like he had fought sleep and lost.

“Hi guys,” I greeted them, casually brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Are you two going somewhere? I can leave y—” Juntae started to ask, but I cut him off without missing a beat.

“We’re going to grab something to eat. Wanna come?” I said, tilting my head slightly and raising an eyebrow.

Juntae looked at me, then over at Sieun, and gave a small nod. “Thanks.”

“Which way are we taking?” I asked, trying not to sound like I cared too much.

“There’s a shortcut,” Juntae replied, “but bullies used to wait there for victims.”

“Relax, dude. My brother stabs people with pens — we're safe,” I said with a grin, nudging Sieun for effect. He didn’t even acknowledge it and just kept walking like nothing was said.

Typical.

I followed behind him with a smirk, loving every second of poking fun at his pen-stabbing reputation. Juntae walked next to me, quiet.

We walked for a while before I decided to break the silence. “So… are you guys friends?” I asked, eyes flicking between them.

“Uh… yeah, you could say that,” Juntae responded, voice unsure.

“Well, congrats. You’re the chosen one,” I said dryly, then added, “By the way, why didn't you just sell his phone? Seriously.”

Sieun sighed like my existence personally exhausted him.

“Newton’s third law,” was all Juntae said in response.

We were entering a short tunnel. On the wall, there was a red graffiti tag:

“Eungjanh High, no fighting”

Signed: Baku.

Suddenly, someone yelled behind us — “Hey!”

The three of us turned around. A boy in a blue hoodie and black pants stood there, out of breath and glaring.

“Oh… Go Hyun-tak?” Juntae asked.

The boy — Hyun-tak, apparently — muttered something under his breath and stalked toward us, planting himself directly in front of Sieun.

“Who do you think you are?” the boy in the blue hoodie spat.

Sieun didn’t answer. Typical again.

“Why’d you came to our clubroom and tear everything to shreds, you fucking dickhead.”

I blinked. Uh, what?

Sieun? Destroying someone’s clubroom? Not that it’s impossible — I mean, he does have the whole brooding, silent-chaos vibe — but seriously? He’s got better things to do than trashing rooms.

“I think—” Juntae began carefully.

“There must have been a bit of a misunderstanding,” he finished, choosing his words like they were landmines.

“Mind your business,” the boy snapped.

“Unless you wanna fucking die.”

I laughed. Out loud.

He turned to look at me.

“Are you actually insane, or just pretending?” I shot back. “My brother didn’t trash your damn clubroom.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but Sieun interrupted, deadpan.

“Go on.”

“Why’d you say?” Hyun-tak asked, taken aback.

“You aren’t going to listen to us anyway,” Sieun said coolly. “So just do it. I’ll make sure to let you win.”

The boy scoffed. “Fucking lunatic.”

He paused, then snapped again: “Stop putting on that fucking act.”

I rolled my eyes and snapped right back:

“You’ve said ‘fucking’ more times than you’ve got brain cells. Can you just shut up?”

He shot me a glare, but quickly turned back to Sieun.

“You killed a guy at your last school, am I right?” he asked.

“No?” he added with mock innocence.

“Ah,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry — you just put him into a coma, not killed him, right?”

Okay, what the hell is this idiot talking about? He doesn’t know anything.

Fucking imbecile.

“Shut up. You don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about,” I said firmly, but he ignored me — eyes still locked on my brother like some courtroom judge.

“Ah, man,” Hyun-tak laughed humorlessly.

“You ruined someone else’s life, so stop acting all high and mighty.”

“What a fucking hypocrite.”

I swallowed hard and glanced at Sieun. His jaw was tight. His lip and eyelid twitched slightly — a subtle tell. Not good.

Without a word, he dropped his bag and swung it at the boy. The first hit missed. Hyun-tak dodged easily. Sieun swung again. Then again. On the third try, Hyun-tak caught the strap and kicked him in the stomach.

Sieun stumbled back, his spine hitting the tunnel wall before collapsing to the ground.

He glanced over at an abandoned pencil case on the ground.

Hyun-tak raised his leg, aiming a kick for Sieun’s head — but he rolled away just in time, scrambling toward the pencil case. In a blur, he opened it and hurled a few pens at the boy like makeshift weapons. Then he grabbed one and lunged to stab him.

Hyun-tak caught Sieun’s wrist mid-air.

Sieun kneed him hard in the stomach, making him stagger back. He took that chance and punched him across the jaw. Another lunge, another stab attempt — but Hyun-tak slapped the pen out of his hand.

Hyun-tak trapped Sieun under his foot, pressing it into his chest.

But Sieun somehow shoved him off, dodging just in time. The boy in the hoodie came swinging again, but my brother ducked, scooped up the fallen pen, and slashed — tearing through both skin and fabric on Hyun-tak’s bicep.

A thin line of blood formed, and the hoodie sleeve ripped.

“Shit,” Hyun-tak hissed under his breath, eyes full of rage "You fucking psycho".He was about to attack again when—

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The sound of metal bats slamming against the tunnel wall echoed behind us.

We all turned around and saw six guys holding metal bats. The one in front laughed and asked, “Were you having fun, motherfucker?” Then without waiting for a response, he barked, "Beat them up"

The guys charged — first at the blue-hoodie psycho, then at my brother.

Hyuntak dodged the first few hits but 5 people attacked him so he failed to dodge the other ones. Sieun was attacked by the guy in front — the one who’d spoken first. My brother tried to stab him with his pen again, but it didn’t work this time. The guy slammed Sieun against the wall, pinning him there with his bat.

I turned toward Juntae. He was just standing there. Doing nothing. Seriously?

The guy was still pressing my brother to the wall with the bat, so I looked around and saw an empty beer bottle nearby. I grabbed it and smashed it straight into the bastard’s head.

He groaned, clutched his scalp, turntd around glared at me.

“I'm going to beat the shit out of you, you fucking bitch” he hissed.

He started toward me. I took a few steps back, thinking, oh great, but before he could lay a finger on me — Sieun punched him in the back of the head, right where I’d smashed the bottle.

The guy whipped around, furious, and swung the bat at Sieun. The first hit missed. The second didn’t — it slammed into his ribs, knocking him to the ground.

I looked over at Hyuntak — he was on the floor, getting kicked by five of the guys like a human punching bag.

Then I glanced back to Sieun. The guy with the bat was raising it again, ready to strike while my brother was still down.

I was about to make a move when suddenly—

“Everyone freeze!”

A new voice shouted from behind me and Juntae.

I turned around. A boy about our age — maybe 180 cm tall — stood there. He had red hair.

Red hair.

It didn’t suit him. At all. Like… not even a little bit.

The guy about to hit my brother stopped mid-swing, the metal bat hovering in the air.

He turned to look at the red-haired kid.

I heard one of the guys standing over blue-hoodie guy mutter, “Baku.”

The redhead looked toward Hyuntak and greeted him casually,

“Hey Gotak, i'm Kang Baek-ho's spitting image"

Kang Baek what?

Hyuntak — or Gotak, I guess? Honestly, I don’t know what to call him anymore — snorted.

“Have you even looked in a mirror?Did you pour spicy sauce on your head” he laughed.

Baku’s smile vanished. He turned toward the guy with the bat next to Sieun and asked,

“What the hell are you doing, Hyoman?"

Hyoman laughed nervously, tossed the bat aside like it was suddenly made of lava, and stammered.

“Oh, Baku, I didn’t know you were back! Uh… this is a misunderstanding, really. It’s not what it looks like—”

Baku ignored him.

He ran toward Hyoman — with a basketball in his hands.

He jumped, raised the ball high, and smashed it into Hyoman’s head like it was a dunk contest from hell.

What the actual—

Hyoman collapsed on the filthy ground.

Baku looked over at the five guys still standing over Gotak. Without a word, they all dropped their bats and took off running.

I raised my brows at all of them but didn’t say anything. I walked straight to my brother and knelt beside him.

“Sieun, are you okay?” I asked, worried.

He just nodded and began to get up, one hand over his ribs — exactly where Hyoman had hit him with the bat earlier. I helped him up.

Then Baku looked over at us and asked"

“Who even are you two? I’ve never seen you around.”

His eyes flicked to me.

“You can’t be from Eunjang High — you’re a girl.”

“Thanks for telling me, I didn’t know,” I said dryly.

He just raised a brow in response.

I turned to my brother and sighed.

“I don’t feel like going anywhere after all this.”

“Same,” he muttered.

Then I looked at Juntae.

“I know I invited you, but maybe another time?” I said, trying not to sound too rude.

He just gave me a small smile and nodded.

“Alright. Bye, I guess,” I said to everyone. Me, Sieun, and Juntae started walking toward the bus stop.

Juntae said something quietly to my brother, and I fell slightly behind them.

As I walked past Hyuntak, I whispered.

“If you ever mention the boy who's in come again, I’ll hire someone to bury you alive.”

I didn’t wait for his reaction.

I just kept walking.

I walked into the classroom and took my usual seat at the second-to-last desk, right in front of my best friend, Haeri.

“What the hell, girl—your hair is… let’s say, disgusting,” she said, staring at the failed heatless curls I had tried to hide in a messy bun.

I gave her a tight, definitely-not-friendly smile. “Thanks. I hadn’t noticed,” I said dryly, pulling out my textbooks and the book I was currently reading. I always carry at least one book with me, no matter where I go. The one sitting on my desk today was The Crimson Moth by Kristen Ciccarelli.

“Dude, TikTok betrayed me,” I groaned, clearly frustrated about my hair.

“What did you use to curl it?” Haeri asked.

“Socks,” I replied. She immediately frowned.

“Um, I use socks too and mine turns out fine. Sooo… the problem is definitely you.”

Before I could clap back, our teacher walked into the room.

“Miss Yoon and Miss Park, could you save the personal chats for later?” the teacher asked sharply.

I turned to face the front as she started writing math problems on the board. I looked at the equation and understood absolutely nothing. Not even a hint. Where the hell is Sieun when I need him?

[timeskip]

Haeri and I were sitting at one of the lunch tables. On my tray: plain white rice, an apple, and egg rolls. On Haeri’s tray: kimchi, bulgogi, and rice.

She took a bite of her kimchi and shook her head. “Girl, I really don’t understand how you don’t like kimchi.”

“I just don’t like spicy food,” I shrugged.

“Mhm,” she said, clearly judging me.

We ate in silence for a bit, so I decided to break it.

“Some dude followed me on insta" I said, opening Instagram on my phone. I pulled up the profile of sjkeum_07 and held my phone up to show her.

“Do you know him?” I asked, since Haeri usually knows more people than I do.

The moment she saw the screen, she nearly choked.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” she said, eyes wide.

“What do you mean?” I asked, a bit confused .

“He’s a manwhore. And a bully. Some people even say he got himself involved with a gang.”

“Yikes… do you have any pictures of him?” I asked.

Haeri shot me a sharp look. “Sooah.”

“Haeri,” I replied with the same tone.

“Look, it’s pointless. He’s probably just interested in fucking you.”

“Hey, hey, hey, who said I even want anything with him? I just saw his hand, okay? It was hot. Like, really hot. I got curious. That’s all.” I said defensively.

“Fine. I’ll pretend to believe you. And no, I don’t have any pictures of him,” she said, shoving a spoonful of rice in her mouth.

I dropped the topic and took a bite of my egg roll. We finished lunch and got up to return our trays. I glanced at my phone. 12:26 PM. We still had about 20 minutes before our next class.

As we walked down the hallway, I asked, “You’re still coming with me to the bookstore, right?”

“Do I even have a choice?” she asked.

“Of course not,” I grinned and we continued toward our classroom.

[timeskip]

Our last class ended, and we started packing up. I was already done, but Haeri was texting someone.

“Come on, hurry up! Quick!” I whined. I was way too excited to get to the bookstore and buy some new books.

“Okay, okay! Chill,” she said, putting her phone away to pack her things.

We left the school together. The bookstore I usually go to is only about a 10-minute walk from campus.

While walking, Haeri decided to say, “You know, maybe you should put the books down and go touch some grass.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, looking at her confused.

“I mean, it’s kinda weird for a 17-year-old to never go out or have had a boyfriend,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“I do go out, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, trying to play it off.

She gave me a Seriously? kind of look.

“If you think going out means just school and the bookstore, you’re worse off than I thought. I bet you even make Sieun buy you pads and tampons because the convenience store is ‘too far’.”

“Dude!” I said, scrunching up my face. She burst out laughing.

We reached the bookstore and went inside. I immediately made my way to the dark romance section, and of course, Haeri followed me.

“Porn books, huh?” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Again?”

“First of all, it’s not again. I read other genres too. I’m just in the mood for something dark right now,” I defended myself.

“Oh yeah? What other genres?” she challenged.

“Fantasy romance… and sometimes I read classics,” I replied.

“Classics?” she laughed. “Name at least three classic authors you’ve actually read.”

“Kafka and Nabokov. Not three, but they count. And they are classics, so you lose,” I snapped back, going back to browsing the shelves.

Twenty minutes later, she groaned, “How much is this gonna take?”

I looked at her, holding four books in my arms. “Ehh… I think I’m done.”

I went to the register and paid 49,000 KRW for my books. We left the store together. Our houses are kind of close, so we walked in the same direction.

We were turning a corner when I suddenly bumped into—no, not a wall—a person.

I looked up and saw a guy around my age, probably about 6’0”.

“Shit, watch where the fuck you’re going, ,” he hissed, but then his eyes landed on my face. “Oh hey, I follow you on Instagram,” he said, pointing at me, finger almost jabbing into my chest, smiling in this weirdly amused way.

Okay? That’s a super weird thing to say. I stared at him, not recognizing him at all. He had black hair, glasses, and a mole under his left eye.

“Umm… okay?” I replied, unsure how to react to being “followed.” Thanks for the info, I guess?

He gave me a slight, borderline-creepy smile and just walked past me like that wasn’t the most awkward encounter ever.

“Weirdo,” I muttered under my breath and kept walking.

Haeri nudged me hard. “Do you know who that was?” she asked with a tone that screamed You’re the dumbest person alive.

“Umm, clearly not?” I said.

“That’s the guy you asked me about earlier,” she said.

Wait—hot hand guy?!

“Ohhh,” I muttered. “Well… he is kinda cute,” I added under my breath.

“I swear to God I’m gonna hit you,” she warned, and I laughed.

When I got home, it was 5:37 PM. Nobody else was there—neither my mom nor my brother. Finally, some alone time.

About an hour later, I heard the front door open. I was in the kitchen eating noodles when my brother walked in, dropped his bag on the counter, and poured himself a glass of water. I noticed the slight bruise on his cheek and the cut on his lip.

“Did you get in a fight?” I asked with a mouth full of noodles.

He just looked at me and said, “No.”

“Mhm, then why do you look like you fell into a bush?”

Sieun explained how he had seen Juntae getting beaten up for returning the phones he stole so he stepped in because it reminded him of Beomseok.Kindw weird to be honest, cause i hate that guy

All I could say was, “I was at the bookstore today. I could’ve bought you a pen or two. Sharp ones.”

“That’s not funny,” he replied.

I raised my hands like okay, okay, and added, “Just don’t stab me with a pen, alright?”

He gave me that bitch, wtf look.

It was almost 10 PM, and I decided to stalk Hot Hand. From Haeri, I found out his name was Keum Seongje, so I searched him up on Facebook.

Turns out, he goes to Ganghak High School. His birthday is listed as April 13, 2007—if that’s even his real birthdate. Most people put fake ones anyway.

I swear, the sound of the iPhone alarm has given me actual trauma. It’s like a mini heart attack wrapped in a jingle.

Yawning, I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. 6:15 AM. My bus comes at 7:30, which gives me exactly an hour and fifteen minutes to pull myself together—not ideal, but doable if I don’t waste time.

I half-ran—well, more like shuffled carefully across my room (no one can actually run in a room that looks like a battlefield of clothes)—and stood in front of my mirror. My “hairstyle” was still a mystery. The sock curls were still in, clinging to my head like oversized caterpillars, and I couldn’t take them out yet. The golden rule: clothes, makeup, then hair. Never the other way around.

I headed to the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush, pressing play on Les by Childish Gambino through my AirPods. A routine was comforting—clean teeth, loud music, and early morning regret.

Foam built up in my mouth as I brushed. I spat it out, rinsed, then reached for my hydrating facial cleanser. I squeezed a bit onto my palm, rubbed until it turned into a soft gel, and gently massaged it into my face. The coldness helped wake me up. After a good cleanse—because clogged pores are my worst enemies—I rinsed off and darted back into my room, face dripping.

My towel stays out of the bathroom for a reason: trust issues. The last time someone used my face towel, I had breakouts for a week. Never again.

I patted my face dry, then pulled on my brown tights, my plaid school skirt, and the crisp white shirt that was part of my Yeongwon High uniform. I tucked the shirt into my skirt, smoothing it out until it looked presentable, then sat down at my vanity.

Moisturizer. Always first. I warmed it in my hands and pressed it into my skin. Then came concealer—NARS, of course—dabbed under my eyes, on my forehead, and chin. I reached for my beauty blender and gently tapped it in, blending everything seamlessly. A little blush to bring some life into my face, a dusting of setting powder, and that was it.

Yeongwon High didn’t allow much makeup—“natural” was the rule. But if we’re being honest, every girl had their own version of “natural.”

I applied mascara and pulled out my false lashes. Just a bit of glue, a little fan to dry it, and then—application. It wasn’t even about looking glamorous. When I was twelve, I bought a cheap eyelash curler that basically ripped all my lashes out. I’ve been faking it ever since. Traumatizing? Yes. Preventable? Also yes.

My phone buzzed.

I glanced down.

A new Instagram follow request.

sjkeum_07.

I opened the profile. No posts. Profile picture: a guy holding a cigarette , bruised knuckles holding the cigarette. I couldn’t see his face, but the hand? Definitely hot.

I accepted the request and followed back without overthinking. Well… maybe slightly overthinking.

It was 6:54.

I got up from the vanity and walked into the kitchen. Sieun was already there, eating cereal and scribbling something into his notebook, eyes locked in like he was trying to solve world hunger.

“Good morning,” I said, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. I popped two of my hair vitamins and washed them down.

“Morning,” he muttered without looking up.

I leaned over his shoulder to peek at his notes.

“Math?” I asked.

“Mhm,” was all I got.

Sometimes I questioned whether we were even related. He lived for numbers. I, on the other hand, could barely scrape a 50%, which is a flat-out F. At least I was really good at Biology and Chemistry—though for Chemistry I still relied heavily on a calculator.

“By the way, how’d you even lose your phone?” I asked casually.

That finally made him look up.

“I didn’t lose it,” he said flatly.

His eyes flicked to my head.

“What’s on your hair?” he asked with a suspicious squint.

I ignored him. Again.

Just like I did with that boy from his class last night.

“But the guy said he found it. I think his name was… Juntae?” I added, raising an eyebrow.

“He didn’t find it,” Sieun said after a pause. “He stole it.”

I blinked. “Oh… well, at least he gave it back. If it were me, I’d have sold it.”

He gave me a look. Hard to describe since he rarely showed emotion, but it was definitely one of those are you serious kind of stares.

Complete opposites, him and I.

I grabbed a green apple from the fruit bowl, tossed it in the air dramatically, trying to look cool—and promptly missed it. It hit the floor with a sad thud.

Sieun just stared at me like I was a walking disappointment, then went back to his notebook.

Without him looking, I swapped the bruised apple with a new one and gave it a quick rinse. This time I didn’t throw it—I took a bite like a normal person and walked back to my room.

Standing in front of the mirror, I untied one of the socks.

Holy. Hell.

It looked like I’d been electrocuted.

I yanked the second sock out and cursed under my breath. My curls were a frizzy, uneven mess. TikTok lied. Again.

I checked my phone.

7:19.

No time to fix this disaster. I quickly tied my hair up in a bun and shoved my feet into my black 3.5-inch heels, grabbed my backpack, my phone, and sprinted to the front door.

Sieun was standing there.

“Bye! Have fun at school, psycho,” I said, flashing a grin and squeezing past him out the door.

It’s a five-minute walk to the bus stop if I move fast. I checked my phone.

7:24.

If I hustled, I could still make it.

I saw the bus just as I was nearing the corner. The doors were closing. The engine started to hum.

“Crap!” I shouted and started running, waving my arms like a lunatic.

Miraculously, the driver noticed. The doors hissed open again.

I climbed in, breathless, flashing my card. No seats left. Of course. I grabbed a pole and stood, panting.

March 11.

This day was already on its way to becoming one of the worst.

I was sitting in my room, watching yet another TikTok tutorial on how to curl your hair using socks. Hopefully, this one would work—though, considering it was already 9 PM and I’d been trying for the past half hour, I wasn’t feeling too optimistic. My arms were going numb from holding them up for so long when suddenly, someone rang the doorbell.

“Ugh,” I groaned, getting up from my chair, only to trip over a pair of jeans that had been abandoned on my floor. I fell forward, just barely catching myself with my hands before my face hit the ground. Damn, I really needed to clean this room. Honestly, I was walking on top of my own clothes.

The doorbell rang three more times—insistently.

Who the hell is at the door at this hour?

I pushed myself off the floor and made my way to the front door. On the intercom screen, I saw a sweet-looking boy wearing glasses, staring directly into the camera.

“Um, hi… Is Sieun home?” he asked politely.

I opened the door, and he gave me a weird look—kind of confused, kind of surprised.

“Uh… you have socks on your head,” he said—not mockingly, just pointing it out.

I ignored the comment and answered, “He’s not home yet. Should be back soon, I guess. And you are…?”

I gave him a quick once-over. He didn’t look like someone who’d be friends with Sieun. Then again, since the whole Suho and Beomseok thing happened, my brother barely talked to anyone besides me.

“I’m in Sieun’s class. I came to return his phone,” the boy said, holding it out toward me.

“Newton’s third law,” he added, flashing a smile with perfect white teeth.

“…Right. The third law of Newton,” I replied, raising an eyebrow as I took the phone. What a weirdo.

“I’ll give it to him. And your name is?” I asked, still unsure what to make of him.

“Juntae. Seo Juntae,” he said with a nod.

“Mhm. Well, Seo Juntae, thanks… on his behalf,” I replied.

“Oh no, really, it’s the least I could do,” he said, lifting his hands a bit in a dismissive gesture.

I gave him a small smile and started closing the door. “Good night.”

“Wait!” he said quickly. “Are you his sister?”

I frowned slightly. What else would I be? His girlfriend? Now that’s a good joke. I don’t think my brother will ever get a girlfriend.

“Yes, I thought that was obvious,” I replied.

“Oh… okay. And what’s your name? Since you know min-" he started.

“Sooah,” I said, cutting him off before he could ask anything else. This boy yapped way too much.

“Right. Um, good night. I mean… evening, I guess,” he said and disappeared.

What a strange kid.

I shut the door behind me and placed Sieun’s phone on the dinner table. Grabbing a notebook, I tore out a page and scribbled a note:

“Here’s your phone, dumbass. I’m going to sleep. And next time, PLEASE don’t lose it. Lots of kisses—your sister.”

I slid the note under his phone and looked up at the clock. It was 9:15 PM. Normally I didn’t go to bed this early, but last night I stayed up until 3 AM reading, so I was surviving on three and a half hours of sleep. In my defense, the enemies had just become lovers.

I went back to my room, stepping over the chaos of clothes like I was shopping during a store-wide clearance sale. Reaching my bed, I turned on my red LED lights and collapsed onto the mattress, only to realize how ridiculously uncomfortable it was trying to sleep with socks tied to my head.

This hairstyle better turn out amazing or I swear, I’m suing this chick on tiktok.