After losing her job, her boyfriend, and her best friend in one go, Y/N walks through a strange ivory door and wakes in a cursed forest. San has been hunting the lord responsible for vanished brides, including his own sister. When he finds Y/N at the edge of the well that swallows women whole, he believes she belongs to the enemy.
She thinks she has nothing left to live for. He has nothing left but vengeance. And somewhere between suspicion and survival, they begin to choose each other.
Pairing: Choi San x Reader (Y/N)
Genre: Dark Fairytale Retelling, Angst, Slow Burn, Mystery, Fantasy
Tropes: Door to another world, Knife-to-throat first meeting, Cursed forest,Morally grey hunter, Cynical depressed heroine, He falls first, Found family
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | San Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
This is Part 1
The fifth woman encountered her door at the edge of celebration.
Inside the rented hall, music swelled against painted walls in a cheerful insistence that bordered on aggressiveness. Laughter rose and fell in waves, glasses clinked, someone shouted for another round, and gold streamers drooped from the ceiling as if even they were tired of pretending.
Y/N stood near the back, a half-empty champagne flute balanced between her fingers, watching the room the way one watches a play they already know the ending to.
Clara’s thirtieth birthday.
Thirty and thriving, according to the banner stretched across the far wall. Thirty and promoted. Thirty and engaged. Thirty and surrounded.
Y/N took another sip.
The bubbles burned pleasantly down her throat. The alcohol had softened the edges of the evening but not dulled them entirely. She was aware of everything. The way conversations quieted a fraction when she approached. The way people’s smiles shifted, not unkind, just cautious.
She had not seen most of them since the company meeting where the layoffs were announced. Since her name had been read in that careful HR voice that carried the illusion of sympathy.
“Due to restructuring…”
“Nothing personal…”
“Opportunities elsewhere…”
She leaned her shoulder against the wall and let her gaze drift.
Near the buffet table stood her ex.
He laughed at something her former best friend said, his hand resting casually at the small of her back.
It was an intimate placement. Familiar.
Not new.
Y/N watched them for a long moment, not with shock. That had passed weeks ago. Not with fury. That had burned through quickly and left only ash.
Now she watched them with something quieter.
Recognition.
Of course.
She had always been the one who tried harder. The one who adjusted herself to fit someone else’s comfort. The one who apologized first, who forgave too easily, who filled silence with reassurance.
Her best friend had filled silence too.
Long phone calls after the breakup. Long sighs about how unfair men were. Long promises of loyalty.
Now she stood wrapped in the very arms she had claimed to condemn.
Y/N lifted her glass slightly in their direction in a mock toast they did not see.
“Well played,” she murmured.
The music shifted into something louder. Clara squealed as candles were lit. People gathered closer, drawn to the spectacle of celebration.
Y/N turned away.
As she crossed the room toward the bar for something stronger than champagne, she passed a small cluster of colleagues she once considered friends.
“…honestly, it wasn’t surprising.”
“She never seemed fully committed.”
“I heard she didn’t even try to negotiate.”
A short laugh.
“Some people just don’t have that drive.”
“She’ll land somewhere eventually. Hopefully.”
Eventually.
The word felt elastic.
She slowed but did not stop.
Another voice chimed in, softer.
“It’s hard, though. Losing your job and then your boyfriend. That’s a lot.”
A pause.
“Well… sometimes there’s a reason things fall apart.”
The implication hung there, sticky and unspoken.
Y/N kept walking.
The bar’s surface reflected her faintly. Mascara intact. Hair in place. Expression neutral.
“Whiskey,” she told the bartender.
“Neat?”
“Sure.”
The glass was pressed into her hand. She did not hesitate before swallowing half of it.
The burn grounded her more than the champagne had.
She turned slightly and let her gaze drift across the room once more.
Her ex caught sight of her then. For a fraction of a second their eyes met. His expression flickered through something like discomfort before smoothing into polite distance.
Her former best friend followed his gaze.
Their eyes met too.
This time, there was something unmistakable there.
Relief.
Relief that the secret was no longer a secret. Relief that the narrative had settled.
Y/N lifted her glass again, a silent acknowledgment.
She did not look away first this time.
Instead she finished the whiskey, set the glass down, and walked toward the exit.
No one tried to stop her.
No one noticed her leaving.
Outside, the night air pressed cool against her skin.
The alley behind the hall glittered faintly under a streetlamp. Confetti had drifted out with guests earlier, scattered across damp pavement like metallic remnants of forced joy.
The door behind her thudded shut, muting the music to a distant vibration.
She exhaled slowly.
It did not hurt the way she had expected.
There was no dramatic collapse, no surge of sobs.
Just a steady, dull awareness that she had miscalculated her place in the world.
Lost job.
Lost boyfriend.
Lost best friend.
She had spent the past month telling herself it was coincidence. Bad timing. Misfortune.
Standing alone in the alley, she let the truth settle.
It was not misfortune.
It was misjudgment.
She had believed herself more central than she was.
She had believed she mattered more than she did.
The confetti shifted slightly as a breeze curled down the narrow passage.
It carried a scent that did not belong there.
Earth.
Damp soil.
Something green and alive.
She frowned faintly.
The alley smelled of stale beer and trash bins, not forests.
The breeze strengthened.
At the far end of the alley, where brick walls narrowed into deeper shadow, stood a door.
Ivory.
Narrow.
Carved with twisting vines that curled and tangled across ist surface. Tiny jewel-like stones glimmered between the leaves, catching the streetlamp’s glow like watchful eyes.
Y/N blinked once.
She did not step back.
“Well,” she said quietly. “That’s new.”
The door had not been there when she stepped outside.
She was certain of that.
She studied it from where she stood, head tilted slightly.
The carvings were intricate. Beautiful, almost delicate. The jewels winked faintly, their light not entirely dependent on the lamp above.
The air around it hummed.
Not loudly.
Just enough to feel slightly out of alignment with the rest of the world.
She walked toward it.
Her heels clicked softly against the pavement, crunching through scattered confetti.
If this was a hallucination, it was remarkably detailed.
If this was a dream, it had impressive production value.
If this was some elaborate prank, she did not have the energy to care.
She stopped a few feet away.
Up close, the vines seemed almost alive, their curves too organic to be entirely carved. The jewels were not glass. They held depth, like droplets of something luminous caught mid-fall.
She reached out and rested her palm against the wood.
It was cool.
Solid.
Real.
The surface vibrated faintly under her skin, like a pulse.
From somewhere deep within came the echo of a song that faltered midway, as if joy itself had forgotten the melody.
She exhaled slowly.
“This tracks,” she murmured.
A voice brushed against her ears then, soft but clear.
“Garlands pale and vows spoken sweet,
May guide your steps to peril’s seat.
Look not away from what you see,
For love is not what it may be.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“Of course,” she said. “A riddle. That feels on brand for my life.”
Her hand remained on the door.
Nothing in the alley called her back.
Inside the hall, laughter continued without her.
She imagined reentering.
Explaining she had stepped outside for air.
Smiling at people who had already decided who she was.
Watching her ex lean closer to someone else.
Returning to an apartment that felt like a waiting room she had overstayed in.
There was nothing waiting for her that she wanted.
The lock clicked.
A wind smelling faintly of earth and secrets curled around her ankles.
She did not hesitate.
She turned the handle.
The world folded inward.
And swallowed her whole.
She landed hard.
Not on pavement.
On grass.
Dampness soaked through the thin fabric of her dress instantly. The ground was uneven, cool against her palms.
She rolled onto her back and stared upward.
Branches arched overhead, woven tightly against a sky that bled from indigo into pale gold. Dawn.
Birdsong trembled faintly somewhere beyond sight.
She lay there for a moment, breathing.
Her mind searched for panic and did not find it.
Instead, there was a strange, detached clarity.
“So,” she said softly to the canopy above, “this is what too much whiskey does.”
She pushed herself upright slowly.
The door was gone.
In ist place stretched forest in every direction.
Tall trees stood close together, their trunks dark and straight, bark rough and ancient. Mist clung low to the ground, coiling between roots and fallen leaves.
The air smelled clean.
She stood, brushing grass from her hands.
Her heels sank slightly into damp soil. She bent down and slipped them off without ceremony, tossing them aside. Bare feet felt more stable.
“This is impressively vivid,” she muttered. “Full sensory immersion.”
She turned slowly in a circle.
No alley.
No hall.
No distant hum of traffic.
Just trees.
The sun edged higher, sending thin spears of light through gaps in the branches.
She tested the ground with one cautious step.
Solid.
Another step.
Still solid.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Forest. Fine.”
Her tone was not frightened.
It was tired.
If this was a hallucination, she would walk through it.
If this was a dream, she would wake eventually.
If this was something else entirely, she lacked the emotional energy to be outraged by it.
She began walking.
The forest floor was uneven, roots twisting across her path like veins beneath skin. Dew clung to her ankles. Her dress caught on low branches.
Birdsong faded as she moved deeper.
The silence that replaced it was not empty.
It felt observant.
Her thoughts drifted unbidden.
She had not always been this cynical.
There had been a time when she believed hard work guaranteed stability.
When she believed loyalty guaranteed reciprocity.
When she believed love, once chosen, remained steady.
Now she recognized patterns more easily.
People pursued what benefited them.
Companies protected themselves.
Friends aligned with proximity and convenience.
It was not cruelty.
It was gravity.
And she had simply misjudged her own weight.
She stumbled over a root and steadied herself against a tree.
“Brilliant,” she murmured. “Even in imaginary forests I trip.”
The bark was rough beneath her palm.
The scent of pine and damp earth deepened as she moved forward.
Time felt stretched thin here. The light shifted slowly, yet she could not measure how long she had walked.
Her mind remained oddly calm.
If she was going to vanish, at least it would be somewhere quiet.
The thought did not terrify her.
It settled into her bones with an uncomfortable familiarity.
She had already been vanishing, in small increments.
At work.
In relationships.
In rooms where conversations shifted when she approached.
In everything that was herself.
The forest simply made it literal.
A faint metallic sound carried through the trees.
Once.
Then silence.
She paused.
Her head tilted slightly.
“Well,” she said softly, “either this dream is developing a plot, or I’m not alone.”
She did not call out.
If something was here, it likely knew already.
She resumed walking.
The ground sloped gently upward. The trees thinned slightly, allowing more light to spill through.
Ahead, she glimpsed a clearing.
Open space felt like direction.
She stepped into it just as the sun crested fully over the horizon.
Light spilled across a small meadow encircled by towering trunks. The grass shimmered silver with dew.
At ist center stood a stone well.
Old.
Cracked.
Ist edges worn smooth by time.
Y/N approached it slowly.
The air felt heavier here.
As she drew closer, she noticed something pale near the edge of the clearing.
Fabric.
White.
She crouched beside it.
The cloth was fine, delicate. Torn unevenly. One corner stained dark brown.
She traced the edge lightly with her fingertip.
“Wedding season,” she murmured without humor.
The metallic scent from earlier lingered faintly beneath the clean morning air.
Not fresh.
Old.
She stood again and stepped back.
The forest around the clearing felt closer than before.
Not hostile.
Just attentive.
Her depression, which had weighed on her like a constant fog for weeks, felt different here.
Sharper.
Stripped of ist usual background noise.
She could not hide inside distractions.
There were no emails to refresh.
No notifications to check.
No conversations to replay.
Only trees.
Only silence.
Only the undeniable fact that she had walked through a door because nothing on the other side had been worth staying for.
She folded her arms loosely around herself.
“I guess,” she said to the well, “if I’m going to end it, this is dramatic enough.” While she looked hypnotized down the well, wondern how long she would fall if she let herself slip. Considering.
A breeze stirred the grass.
The well’s dark opening seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it.
Water glimmered far below, still and black.
For a moment, her reflection wavered in ist surface.
Then rippled.
She blinked.
The ripples did not settle.
They spread outward, distorting her face.
Behind her reflection, something pale flickered past.
She straightened slowly.
“Of course,” she said under her breath. “Why not add haunted well to the list.”
She stepped back from the edge.
The metallic sound came again.
Closer this time.
Stone against metal.
Measured.
Deliberate.
She turned her head slightly toward the sound.
Somewhere beyond the tree line, something moved.
Not crashing.
Not clumsy.
Controlled.
She did not feel fear.
Not yet.
Her life had already fractured.
The idea of further danger felt abstract.
She inhaled slowly.
“If this is where the horror element escalates,” she murmured, “I hope it’s efficient and gets me out of this misery fast.”
The sun climbed higher, but the clearing retained a chill.
The scrap of white fabric lay still at her feet.
The well waited.
The forest listened.
And somewhere beyond her sight, something watched.
Y/N lifted her chin slightly.
“All right,” she said quietly to the trees. “If you’re going to ruin me too, at least introduce yourself properly.”
The breeze shifted again.
This time it carried the faintest trace of smoke.
Not fresh.
Old.
Lingering.
She stepped back toward the tree line, eyes scanning the shadows.
She was not afraid.
Not because she was brave.
But because she had already lost the things she had feared losing.
When there was nothing left to protect, fear dulled into indifference.
And indifference, she was beginning to understand, was ist own kind of armor.
Behind her, the well’s water stilled.
Ahead, a branch snapped softly beneath careful weight.
The forest exhaled.
And the fifth woman, barefoot in a stranger’s dawn, didn't even know what she got herself into.
San had risen before the sun.
He preferred the forest at that hour. When the air still held the quiet of night and the world had not yet remembered its noise. When breath showed faintly in the cold and the ground was damp with dew that preserved tracks clearly.
He crouched now near the base of a pine, fingers brushing lightly over disturbed soil.
Not deer.
Too narrow.
Not rabbit.
Too deep.
He exhaled through his nose slowly.
Human.
Recent.
The imprint pressed into the earth was incomplete, but the edges were still sharp. Whoever had passed here had done so after the last rainfall.
He straightened slightly, gaze scanning the tree line.
The forest stretched endless and patient around him, trunks rising tall and close together, their bark dark with moisture. Mist clung low, drifting between roots and stones like something reluctant to disperse.
Behind him, a twig snapped softly.
He did not turn.
“I see it,” he said quietly.
Hongjoong stepped forward into his peripheral vision, bow slung over his shoulder. His gaze followed San’s to the ground.
“Not ours,” Hongjoong murmured.
“No.”
The others were scattered further back, moving in deliberate arcs through the undergrowth. They had learned not to cluster too tightly. The forest favored those who moved with awareness.
They had come out at first light for two purposes.
Food.
And answers.
The first was simple. The second had consumed them for months.
San’s jaw tightened faintly.
He had replayed the last time he saw his sister so often that the memory felt polished smooth. The white of her dress. The ribbon in her hair. The way she had laughed at something small and trivial before mounting the carriage that would take her to the lord’s estate.
Promised.
The word still scraped.
The lord had been generous. Kind. Respected.
The match had been celebrated.
She had never returned.
At first, there had been letters.
Then silence.
The estate had claimed illness. Then travel. Then confusion.
San had ridden there himself.
He had been turned away politely.
Hongjoong had gone weeks later with a different approach.
He had been met with empty smiles.
Since then, brides had vanished. Not only from their village. From others too.
Always after being promised to the same lord or men within his circle.
Always quietly. Always without bodies.
Until one.
Yunho had found the scrap of white cloth near the well three weeks ago.
Stained.
San swallowed slowly.
The cursed well lay deeper in the forest, in a clearing most avoided.
The villagers whispered that it was older than the trees. That something beneath it fed on sorrow.
San did not believe in curses. He believed in men.
Men who hid their crimes behind wealth and influence. Men who thought the forest would swallow evidence for them.
He crouched again, examining the track more closely.
Barefoot.
He frowned.
“Barefoot?” Hongjoong echoed softly, noticing the same detail.
San nodded once.
Who walked this forest barefoot?
Not villagers. Not hunters. Not travelers with sense.
The imprint angled toward the clearing.
Toward the well.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
He rose fluidly to his feet.
“Stay wide,” he said quietly. “If this is bait, they will not expect us from all sides.”
Hongjoong nodded once and melted back into the trees.
San moved forward alone.
The forest thinned gradually, allowing pale morning light to filter through more freely. The air shifted subtly as he approached the clearing, heavier, charged in a way that pressed faintly against his skin.
He slowed.
Voices carried faintly. Not multiple. One.
A woman’s voice.
Talking. Not in fear. Not shouting.
Talking as if to herself.
He stilled completely, blending into shadow behind a thick trunk.
He angled his head slightly.
“…if I’m going to ruin me too, at least introduce yourself properly.”
The tone was dry. Resigned. Slightly slurred, as if drunk.
He frowned faintly. He edged closer, moving without sound, each step placed deliberately between fallen leaves and brittle twigs.
The clearing opened before him.
And there she stood. Near the well. Barefoot.
Wearing a dress unlike any he had seen.
It was pale blue, the fabric thinner and shaped differently than village garments. It fell strangely against her frame, unfamiliar stitching and cut. It did not belong to this place.
Her hair caught the early light, strands illuminated gold where the sun pierced through branches.
She stood with her back partially turned, arms loosely folded as if warding off chill.
Talking to herself.
San’s gaze sharpened.
The lord’s men were known for their disguises.
For planting stories. For using women.
If she was one of them, her presence here was deliberate.
He scanned the perimeter quickly.
No movement. No obvious guards.
That meant nothing.
He stepped forward silently, circling behind her.
She did not hear him.
Not until he was already there.
He moved fast.
One arm hooked around her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest. His left hand brought a knife to her throat, the blade resting just beneath her jaw. His right hand pressed the second knife flat against her abdomen.
Her body stiffened in his grip. Her breath caught.
“Do not move,” he said low against her ear.
The scent of her hit him faintly.
Not forest. Not village smoke.
Something unfamiliar.
Clean. Sharp.
He tightened his hold slightly.
“Where is she?” he demanded. “Where do they keep the brides?”
She did not thrash. Did not scream.
Instead, for a heartbeat, she went utterly still.
Then she laughed.
It was not hysterical. It was not defiant. It was tired.
The sound vibrated lightly against his chest.
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she said evenly.
His grip tightened. “Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not.” Her voice did not waver.
“If this is about brides, cults, forest gangs, whatever you’re imagining, I’m afraid I missed the orientation.”
He pressed the blade slightly closer to her throat.
A thin line of red appeared.
“Where is my sister?” he asked, the word rougher than he intended. “Which house do they hold her in?”
She tilted her head faintly against the knife, as if considering the question seriously.
“I don’t know your sister,” she said. “I don’t know you. I don’t know where I am.”
Her voice shifted slightly then, not fearful.
Empty.
“And frankly, I don’t care if you kill me.”
San’s fingers faltered for a fraction of a second.
“What?”
“I said,” she repeated calmly, “I don’t care.”
He studied her profile from behind.
Her pulse beat steadily beneath the blade.
No frantic flutter. No attempt to break free.
“I was actually considering jumping into that well,” she added conversationally. “So you’re saving me the trouble.”
His brows drew together sharply.
“Do not speak nonsense.”
“I’m not.”
She exhaled slowly.
“My life is a disaster. I lost my job. My boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend. I am standing barefoot in a forest that may or may not be real. So if you’re here to finish the job, go ahead.”
The words came with such blunt honesty that it disrupted the narrative he had prepared.
He had expected pleading.
Or lies. Or anger.
Not this.
He frowned. “You expect me to believe you wandered into this forest by accident?”
She gave a small, humorless huff.
“I walked through a door in an alley after too much whiskey. So yes. Accident seems appropriate.”
He stared at the side of her face.
Mad. She must be mad.
Or very good at pretending.
“Killing yourself is not the answer,” he said sharply.
He did not know why he said it.
The words left him before he examined them.
To his surprise, her body trembled.
And then she began to cry.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Tears slid down her cheeks silently at first.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know it isn’t.”
Her voice cracked.
“I just… I don’t know how to fix anything anymore.”
He felt something unfamiliar tighten in his chest.
She was either the most skilled liar he had ever encountered.
Or she was telling the truth.
Words spilled from her in uneven fragments.
About interviews that led nowhere.
About sitting in her apartment in the dark because turning on lights felt like admitting she was still there.
About watching people she trusted rearrange themselves around someone else as if she had never been essential.
She spoke not as someone crafting a performance.
But as someone exhausted from holding it in.
San’s grip loosened gradually without him realizing.
He lowered the blade at her throat slightly.
She did not attempt to flee.
He stepped back, though he kept one knife raised.
She turned slowly to face him.
And he saw her fully for the first time.
For a moment, his mind refused to process it.
The rising sun broke through the branches above, light cascading across her features in pale gold. It illuminated the dampness on her lashes, the faint flush across her cheeks.
Her dress, that strange pale blue fabric, caught the light softly.
She looked…painfully real.
And yet there was something about her that felt almost mythic.
Like a siren emerging from mist.
Her eyes lifted to meet his.
Clear.
Direct.
Unafraid.
He forgot, briefly, to breathe.
She blinked at him through tears and then, incredibly, a crooked smile tugged at her mouth.
“You know,” she said, voice still thick, “this knife thing is the most intimate contact I’ve had in months.”
He stared at her.
“What?”
She shrugged faintly.
“Not my best statistic.”
Heat rushed unexpectedly up his neck.
He lowered the second blade a fraction more.
“You are insane,” he said.
She laughed softly, wiping at her cheeks.
“Probably.”
Her gaze traveled over him then, assessing.
“And you are surprisingly handsome for a man who ambushes random women in forests.”
He stiffened.
The moment snapped.
He stepped back fully now, both knives lowered but still in hand.
“I am not the one talking to herself near a cursed well,” he shot back.
Her brows lifted.
“Cursed?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head, eyes sliding toward the stone structure behind her.
“And you just accept that?”
“It has swallowed more than one who approached too close.”
She snorted lightly.
“Right. Because wells are notoriously vindictive.”
She stepped toward it deliberately.
San’s stomach dropped.
“Do not,” he warned.
She leaned over the edge.
“Hello?” she called down into the darkness. “Any curses home?”
The earth trembled.
Light within the clearing shifted violently.
San’s eyes widened.
“Move!”
Too late.
The well’s surface erupted.
Blackened hands shot upward from within, long and skeletal, slick with something that shimmered like oil. They clawed at the air, reaching for her.
She gasped and stumbled back, barely avoiding the first grasping fingers with shock on her face .
The ground cracked around the well’s base.
More arms burst forth, writhing, searching.
Her eyes went wide.
“This is the most vivid dream I have ever had,” she breathed. “I am never drinking again.”
San lunged forward, grabbing her wrist.
“This is no dream,” he snapped. “Run.”
She did not argue.
They bolted.
The forest seemed to recoil as the darkness spilled outward from the well, slithering across the grass like living shadow.
Branches whipped past them.
The air grew colder.
He heard the others shouting somewhere distant, alarm rising.
The ground behind them blackened as the shadow advanced.
She stumbled once.
He glanced down.
Her feet were bare.
Of course. He had forgotten that.
He cursed under his breath.
Without slowing, he swept her up into his arms.
She let out a startled sound but wrapped her arms instinctively around his neck.
“You could have led with this instead of knives,” she panted.
He ignored that.
He ran.
Branches lashed against his shoulders.
The shadow followed, stretching unnaturally long between trees.
He adjusted his grip, holding her securely against his chest.
She was lighter than he expected.
Warm and real.
He could feel her heartbeat against his collarbone, fast but steady.
Not the pulse of someone resigned to death.
The forest sloped downward sharply ahead.
He leaped over a fallen log.
Behind them, the darkness shrieked, a sound like stone grinding against bone.
He did not look back.
He did not slow.
Not until the air shifted again.
Until the shadow hesitated at the edge of a certain boundary, recoiling as if striking something unseen.
San crossed that invisible line and felt the tension in the forest release slightly.
The darkness writhed at the edge but did not follow further.
He slowed gradually, breath controlled but deep.
Only when the sounds of pursuit faded did he finally stop.
He set her down carefully.
She swayed once before steadying herself.
Her eyes searched his face.
“That,” she said faintly, “was new.”
He studied her in silence.
The sunlight filtered through leaves above them, illuminating her again in pale gold.
She looked shaken now.
But not broken.
“Who are you?” he asked quietly.
She let out a slow breath.
“I wish I knew, that is a question I have been asking myself for months.”
And for the first time since he had begun this hunt months ago, San felt something shift inside him.
San did not let her linger near the boundary where the darkness had stopped.
He caught her wrist again, firmer this time, and began pulling her deeper into the forest.
“Hey,” she protested lightly, stumbling after him. “You could at least ask before abducting me a second time.”
“You will come with me,” he said without looking back.
“I gathered that.”
Her tone was not frightened.
It was curious.
He moved quickly but not recklessly, choosing paths that twisted through dense undergrowth and around fallen trunks. The forest here was older, quieter. Few traveled this stretch except those who knew where to step.
She stumbled again and then steadied herself.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “for a handsome forest enthusiast slash criminal, you run very efficiently.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
“I am not handsome or criminal.”
“Debatable. You did hold knives to me.”
“You were near the well.”
She was silent for a moment.
Then she craned her neck slightly to peer past him at the trees.
“This place is incredible,” she murmured, almost to herself. “The light is different. Everything smells so clean. It’s like someone turned up the saturation on reality.”
He glanced at her briefly.
She should have been shaken. The well had revealed what it was capable of.
Instead, her eyes moved over everything with open fascination.
A crow lifted from a branch above them and flapped away with a harsh cry.
She looked up, following it.
“I mean, aside from the shadow arms trying to drag me into the earth. That was rude.”
He stopped abruptly and turned toward her.
“You find this amusing?”
“I find it… surreal,” she corrected. “If this is a dream, it is disturbingly detailed. If it is not a dream, then I’ve already accepted that my life has derailed in spectacular fashion.”
He studied her face.
There was no tremor in her jaw. No wildness in her eyes.
Just exhaustion layered beneath curiosity.
“You were not afraid,” he said quietly.
“Of the well?”
“Yes.”
She shrugged faintly.
“I’ve been more afraid in my apartment.”
He did not understand that.
She continued walking beside him, though he had not resumed pulling her.
Her hands flexed at her sides as if testing the reality of movement.
“You said it swallowed people,” she added. “Who?”
“Women,” he answered. “Brides promised to a lord who does not keep his vows.”
She tilted her head.
“That sounds ominous. Do you specialize in ominous?” words slightly slurred.
He did not answer.
They moved again, weaving through a denser patch of trees. The sun rose higher but struggled to pierce the canopy fully. The forest floor darkened in places where shadow lingered stubbornly.
She brushed her fingertips lightly over the bark of a tree as she passed.
“It’s all so vivid,” she said softly. “I can feel everything. The texture, the dampness.”
She glanced at her bare feet.
“Though I would have preferred shoes.”
He noticed then the faint abrasions along her soles. Thin lines of red where small stones had cut her skin.
“You should not have walked barefoot,” he said.
“I didn’t exactly pack for a woodland excursion.”
He slowed slightly, adjusting his pace to hers.
He had meant to bring down a deer this morning. To return with meat. To search for tracks that might lead to answers about his sister.
Instead he was escorting a strange woman in an unfamiliar dress who spoke of doors in alleys and whiskey-fueled transitions between worlds.
He considered his options.
He could leave her.
The forest would deal with her eventually.
But the image of the well’s hands reaching for her flickered in his mind.
And the way she had said she did not care if he killed her.
That unsettled him more than the darkness.
“You cannot wander alone,” he said finally.
“I wasn’t planning to start a hiking club.”
He ignored that.
“There are others with me.”
“Ah,” she said lightly. “A whole knife collective.”
“They are not criminals.”
“Good to know.”
He hesitated.
Bringing her to their lodging meant risk.
Their location had remained hidden carefully. They did not trust easily.
But leaving her here was not an option. He sighed, he was too soft hearted too just leave her here.
And he could not guard her alone indefinitely.
He stopped walking again.
She nearly collided with him.
“Now what?” she asked.
“You will come to our lodging,” he said. “But you will not know where it is.”
She blinked.
“That sounds dramatic.”
He stepped closer to her.
“If you are part of the lord’s men, you will not betray us.”
Her brows lifted slightly.
“You still think I’m secretly affiliated with some forest aristocrat?”
“I think nothing yet.”
“Fair.”
He pulled a strip of cloth from inside his belt.
Her gaze flicked to it and then back to him.
“You’re going to blindfold me.”
“Yes.”
“And tie my hands.”
“Yes.”
A slow grin spread across her face.
“Normally I prefer knowing someone a little longer before we escalate to this level of intimacy.”
The words were soft.
Suggestive.
He froze for half a second.
Heat climbed rapidly up his neck into his cheeks.
She noticed.
“Oh,” she said with mock surprise. “He blushes.”
“I do not,” he snapped automatically.
“You absolutely do.”
He stepped forward and turned her roughly so her back faced him.
She did not resist.
He caught her wrists and drew them behind her back.
Her breath hitched faintly at the contact.
“Careful,” she murmured. “Buy me dinner first next time.”
He tied her wrists with efficient knots, tighter than necessary.
She flexed her fingers.
“Functional,” she assessed.
He lifted the cloth and wrapped it around her eyes, securing it firmly.
Dark lashes fluttered once before disappearing beneath the fabric.
“There,” he said.
She tilted her head slightly.
“You are still very handsome, by the way.”
He tightened the knot unnecessarily.
She laughed softly.
“Violence as a coping mechanism. Classic.”
He exhaled slowly and bent down.
In one fluid motion, he lifted her and slung her over his shoulder.
She let out a startled sound and then adjusted, her bound hands pressing lightly against his back.
“This is either the worst kidnapping ever or the most elaborate hallucination,” she said.
“Silence would be appreciated,” he replied.
“Unlikely.”
He began walking.
Her weight settled against him more naturally than he expected. She was not heavy, but she was solid. Real. The heat of her body seeped faintly through his tunic.
The forest shifted around them as he took a more convoluted path, doubling back in places, stepping deliberately over streams and through shallow patches to obscure tracks.
She talked.
Not constantly.
But steadily.
“You know,” she began after a few minutes, “three months ago I thought my biggest problem was deciding what to cook for dinner.”
He said nothing.
“Then I lost my job. Budget cuts. I didn’t even argue. I was so tired. I signed the papers and walked out with a cardboard box like in every cliché movie.”
Her voice held no tears now.
Just narration.
But he didn't even understand half of the things she said. She was either pretty drunk or really mad.
“Then my boyfriend decided he ‘needed space.’ Which apparently meant space with my best friend.”
San’s jaw tightened faintly.
She shifted slightly on his shoulder.
“I found out at a party tonight. Well, technically I found out weeks ago. But seeing them together makes it… concrete.”
He adjusted his grip as he stepped over a fallen log.
“And then,” she continued, “I overheard my former colleagues discussing my failure like it was a case study.”
Her laugh was quiet and brittle.
“Apparently I lack drive.”
He glanced down slightly though he could not see her face beneath the blindfold.
“You do not lack words,” he muttered.
“Talking is free.”
She was quiet for a few steps.
“I drank too much whiskey,” she added. “Went outside for air. There was a door. Ivory. Vines. Jewels. Very aesthetic.”
He nearly stumbled.
“A door.”
“Yes. In an alley.”
“You expect me to believe that.”
“I expect nothing at this point.”
He considered the possibility that she had struck her head.
But the well had reacted to her.
The darkness had reached for her.
She continued.
“I didn’t have anything left to lose,” she said softly. “That’s the honest part. Walking through it felt easier than going back inside.”
The words lingered.
He thought of the moment she had said she did not care if he killed her.
He had assumed manipulation.
Now he was less certain.
“Do you truly not value your life?” he asked quietly.
She was silent long enough that he wondered if she would answer.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “I think I valued what my life was supposed to be. And when that fell apart, I didn’t know what remained.”
He did not respond.
They moved through thicker brush now, the path narrowing.
Birds scattered as he passed.
She spoke again.
“You said your sister vanished.”
His grip tightened slightly.
“Yes.”
“Promised to some lord.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re hunting him.”
“Yes.”
She hummed thoughtfully.
“See, that I understand.”
He frowned faintly.
“You understand vengeance.”
“I understand wanting answers.”
He did not correct her.
She shifted again on his shoulder, her cheek brushing briefly against the fabric of his tunic.
“You know what’s funny,” she said. “If this is real, I walked into a medieval murder investigation while emotionally unstable. If it’s a dream, my subconscious is very dramatic.”
“You are dramatic,” he said dryly.
“Accurate.”
They walked for a long stretch in relative quiet.
San’s thoughts turned inward.
She could be lying.
She could be sent.
She could be a distraction.
But her story held no obvious manipulation.
It was too strange to be believable.
He thought of his sister laughing in the sunlight before stepping into a carriage.
Of believing in something promised.
Of waiting for letters that never came.
He thought of this woman near the well, speaking of ending herself as if it were an administrative decision.
Lonely.
That was the word that pressed against him.
She sounded unbearably lonely.
He wondered when he had last allowed himself to acknowledge his own.
They approached the final stretch.
The trees grew denser, then abruptly opened into a hidden clearing masked by low branches.
Their lodging was not a house.
Not fully.
It was an old hunter’s shelter built partially into the earth, reinforced over time with timber and stone. From a distance it blended with the forest floor.
He paused at the edge and listened.
Voices.
Alert.
He stepped forward into view.
Immediately, movement erupted.
Yunho emerged from behind a tree, bow raised.
Wooyoung stepped out from the opposite side, blade already in hand.
Hongjoong appeared near the shelter entrance.
“San,” Hongjoong called sharply. “Did you see what happened at the well?”
“Yes,” San replied evenly.
Their gazes shifted downward.
To the woman slung over his shoulder.
She chose that moment to speak.
“For the record,” she said brightly, “I would like it noted that I was not informed this was a group activity.”
Silence fell.
Wooyoung blinked.
“…Why are you carrying a woman,” he asked slowly, “and why is she joking.”
San lowered her carefully to the ground but kept hold of her arm.
“She was at the well.”
All of them stilled.
“At the well,” Mingi echoed from near the shelter.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“The well reacted.”
A collective tension rippled through them.
Yunho stepped closer, eyes scanning her bound wrists and blindfold.
She tilted her head toward the sound of his approach.
“If this is a trial,” she said lightly, “I’d like legal representation.”
Wooyoung stared at San. “You found her near the cursed well. And decided to bring her home.”
“She could be one of his,” Jongho said quietly from behind.
“She claims she does not know this place,” San replied.
“And you believe her?” Hongjoong asked.
San hesitated. “I do not know yet.”
The woman shifted slightly.
“For clarity,” she interjected, “I am equally confused.”
Wooyoung let out a short disbelieving laugh.
“She talks a lot.”
“Yes,” San said flatly.
Hongjoong studied her in silence for a moment.
“Remove the blindfold.”
San reached forward and untied the cloth.
It fell away.
Her eyes blinked against the light.
She took in the group slowly.
One by one. Assessing.
Then she smiled faintly. “Well,” she said, “this is either a very attractive cult or I have finally lost my mind.”
Wooyoung choked on a laugh.
San felt heat rise in his cheeks again and ignored it.
The forest around them seemed to hold its breath.
And for the first time since his sister vanished, something other than vengeance stood in the center of their hidden clearing.
San expected another joke.
Another crooked grin. Another careless comment meant to disarm them.
Instead, after she called them an attractive cult, the woman went utterly quiet.
The shift unsettled him more than her teasing had.
Her gaze moved slowly from face to face, measuring each of them as if trying to understand what kind of story she had stumbled into. Hongjoong’s calculating calm. Yunho’s quiet watchfulness. Wooyoung’s restless intensity. Mingi’s guarded stance. Jongho’s unreadable stillness. Yeosang’s sharp silence. Seonghwa’s composed, almost gentle attention.
No smile. No sarcasm.
Just stillness.
Wooyoung broke it first. “San. Who is she?”
San kept his eyes on her. “She was alone at the well.”
Every one of them stiffened.
“At the well?” Yunho asked.
“Yes.”
“And?” Hongjoong’s tone sharpened. “What happened?”
“She spoke to it.”
A pause.
“And it answered.”
That drew a reaction.
“How?” Mingi asked quietly.
“The ground split. Hands came out.”
Silence fell heavy in the clearing.
“That has not happened in months,” Yeosang murmured.
San nodded once. “It reached for her.”
Wooyoung blinked. “And you brought her here.”
“She would have died,” San replied.
The words were factual. But something under them felt less detached than he intended.
Hongjoong studied him carefully. “Or she was bait.”
“Then we will discover that,” San said evenly.
He did not take his eyes off her.
She had drifted toward the fire without anyone noticing.
The small flames flickered softly against stacked wood, casting warm light against her pale dress. She stood too close. Her face unreadable.
Then she extended her hand into the fire.
San moved before thought caught up.
He seized her shoulders and pulled her back sharply.
“What are you doing?”
Her skin had only brushed flame briefly. Not enough to truly harm her.
But tears were already spilling down her face.
Not the dry tears from before. Not controlled.
This was different.
“You should have let me jump,” she said hoarsely.
The clearing went still.
“Or killed me,” she added, voice breaking.
San’s grip slackened. “This is not—”
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, louder now, but not hysterical. Just cracked open. “I can’t keep pretending I can fix it.”
Her hands trembled at her sides.
“I lost my job. I lost the only person I thought loved me. My best friend chose him. And everyone else just… talks about me like I failed something.”
The humor was gone. Completely gone.
“No one wants me,” she whispered. “No one needs me. There isn’t a single person who would care if I disappeared.”
The words landed like a blow.
San felt something tighten sharply in his chest.
She looked at him directly. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what group you’re hunting or what sister you lost.”
Her voice thinned. “I just wanted the noise to stop.”
Wooyoung stepped forward slowly and crouched in front of her.
His voice was softer than San had ever heard it.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” Wooyoung said gently.
She shook her head faintly. “You’ll either kill me because you think I’m lying… or I’ll take care of it myself. Because this obviously isn’t a dream.”
That sentence silenced all of them.
San felt it in his spine.
She believed that. Entirely.
No madness in her eyes. Just dawning realization.
“What is your name?” Wooyoung asked again.
A long pause. Then she said it quietly.
Y/N.
The name felt fragile in the open air.
She swayed suddenly.
Seonghwa moved at once, catching her elbow before she collapsed.
“You are exhausted,” he said calmly.
She didn’t argue.
San noticed how light she felt in Seonghwa’s hold. How her balance seemed delayed, as if her body and mind were no longer aligned.
“She tried to burn herself,” Mingi muttered under his breath.
Seonghwa gently untied the rope still loosely looped around her wrists. She did not resist. Did not even react.
“Inside,” Seonghwa said quietly.
San almost objected.
But when she blinked slowly and her knees dipped again, the protest died in his throat.
Seonghwa guided her toward the shelter.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t look back.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the clearing felt colder.
The others looked to San.
“Well?” Hongjoong asked.
“She says she came through a door,” San replied. “From another place. Another world.”
“And you believe that?” Jongho asked.
“I believe she believes it.”
“She knew nothing about the lord?” Yunho pressed.
“She swore she didn’t.”
Wooyoung stood slowly. “She didn’t look like someone pretending.”
No one argued.
Inside the shelter, faint movement sounded. Then quiet.
San stepped closer to the entrance and looked in.
She was already lying down.
Seonghwa had placed a blanket over her. Her strange pale blue dress contrasted sharply with the rough wooden walls and woven furs.
Her eyes were closed. She had fallen asleep almost immediately. Tears still streaked faintly along her temple.
“She collapsed the moment she lay down,” Seonghwa said quietly from beside the doorway. “Body gave out.”
San nodded.
He watched her breathing.
Steady. Unaware.
She looked younger asleep. The sharpness stripped away. The sarcasm gone. Just a woman who had reached the end of her strength.
He stepped back outside. The forest rustled softly around them.
Mingi crossed his arms. “So. Who is she really?”
San inhaled slowly. “She says she lost everything in her world. Work. Lover. Friend.”
Wooyoung’s jaw tightened faintly.
“She said there was no one who would miss her,” San added.
The admission felt heavier spoken aloud.
Hongjoong studied him carefully. “And the well reacted to her.”
“Yes.”
“That matters,” Yeosang said softly.
San knew it did.
The well did not awaken for ordinary wanderers.
Which meant one of two things.
She was connected to something older than they understood.
Or she was meant to be here.
San looked toward the shelter again.
For months, his purpose had been clean and brutal.
Find the lord. Find the missing brides. Find his sister.
Now there was a sleeping stranger under their roof.
A woman who had nearly stepped into darkness not because she was brave, but because she believed she had nothing left to protect.
“She stays,” San said finally.
Hongjoong’s brow lifted slightly.
“For now,” San clarified.
Wooyoung leaned against a tree trunk.
“You don’t sound like you think she’s dangerous.”
San considered that.
He thought of her near the well.
Of her hands in the fire. Of the way her voice broke when she said no one wanted her.
Dangerous? No.
Broken. And painfully alone.
“She is not the threat,” San said quietly.
The fire crackled between them.
Inside the shelter, she shifted faintly in her sleep, as if chasing something she could not quite outrun.
San looked out toward the forest line.
The hunt had not changed. The lord still needed to fall. His sister still needed to be found.
But something else had entered their war now.
Not vengeance. Not suspicion.
Something softer. Something fragile.
An ember in the ash.
And for reasons he did not yet understand, San found himself hoping it would not go out.
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Sans Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
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