née déesse

Her eyebrows raise in silent question to the male, but she has little interest in whatever he plans to do next, only nodding in agreement to her ‘partners’ words. “Bye.” Was all she says when he finally did give up, Sena Aera raising a hand to motion him away as she watches him storm off with annoyed uttering before a smug smile settles on her lips. She squeezes the other female’s fingers in a silent thanks, bursting into giggles as Sohee did. “Thank god.”  

Pulling her hand away, Sena Aera rests her elbows on the table’s edge and laces her own fingers together under her chin, “Oh? I don’t know babe.” She smothers a laugh, grinning from ear to ear. “I head the salmon here is really good.” Her head shakes, eyes dropping momentarily before sitting straighter and adjusting loose strands that fell over her eyes, “But seriously—” Reeling in her amused triumph, “The salmon here is to die for— and it goes great with pinot noir, so we can order an expensive wine.” 

She gestures a waiter over without waiting for further input, greeting the employee with a confident smile. “To drink, we would like the Maison—” The waiter understands and writes, only needing to meet Sena’s Aera’s eyes to know the full name of the red wine for she wasn’t going to bother pronouncing it. “— and smoked scallops with cherry tomatoes to start.” She doesn’t even spare a glance at the menu, “A little of the butternut squash soup to follow would be ideal after.” Nodding in satisfaction, she finally turns back to the other with a smile still on her lips. “Is there an appetizer or soup you’d like to try? Just let him know.”

A giggle or two managed to escape from her lips right as the man moved along. Thankfully, it’d been a quick thing to do, get rid of his presence. Some could be persistent to bout, to a point where it was just plain distasteful. Now though, Sohee was left with company she hadn’t thought she’d be getting and she was also getting a recommendation that was more than welcomed. This place itself was a first time for her, something to catch on her way to her next appointment, a portfolio in hand and a company to audition for. She’d felt hungry on the way after the interview and so here she was, in unknown territory. 

“You’ve had it before or--?” The hesitation is due to the fact that at first it was more of a suggestion, then more of an affirmation. Either way, she was willing to be influenced in her choices today, seeing as she wasn’t too sure which one to take. “The salmon it is, I’ll trust your taste.”  It was more than apparent as seconds ticked and after the waiter appeared at their table that Sohee didn’t have much to worry about. The woman most likely was a regular, at least enough that she was naming things off the menu Sohee had gathered back and was reading through, without even throwing a glance at it. That or she was quick to memorize words, in both cases, impressive. 

          for someone who constantly needs to be around people, kylie would never turn down any invitation to parties. she’s always down to meet new friends, always down to hang out with her friends and their friends. as a social media influencer, it’s often better for her to flaunt an active lifestyle. after all she thrives on those likes and comments she gets on social medias, so she needs to keep them coming all the time. it’s not uncommon for her to wake up in someone else’s bed in the morning, but judging from the other girl’s reaction, she could tell that this is probably something that doesn’t happen often. finally getting her ‘good morning’ from the girl, kylie lets out a small chuckle as she shakes her head. “ good morning, cupcake. wait, what was your name again ? pretty sure you already told me last night but you see, i’m not really good with names. ” she remarks, adding a nod as if to emphasize her statement. “ mine is kylie, in case you don’t remember too. ” this time she moves to climb on her bed again, sitting next to the other girl as she grins cheekily. “ you’re damn right ! the boys were super offended when you asked me, and i was like ooh, sorry, gotta steal your girl ‘cause apparently she likes me more. ” she giggles.

“my name?” blinking, so distracted she was because she was still spotting every piece of clothing she’d apparently decided belonged anywhere and everywhere else but on her body. “oh, jihye!” she had an immediate grin with that, both because of what the other girl, now acknowledged as kylie, a name to the face, was saying and both because she was now more than certain she had everything she needed to get dressed again. 

so jihye rose from the bed just as kylie was facing her on it, going for her skirt first. how she’d managed to last with it when winter was more than closing in, well, the alcohol and the dancing had helped. it always did. she rarely ever let herself be dressed heavily no matter the season if it was to head to a place where the warmth of hard liquor or any liquor would make it too hot and sweaty. she laughed briefly as some bits of what kylie was saying came to her mind, dropping the blanket and pulling the leather skirt on, only a zip and it was fixed and good. 

at least of a few enterprises owned by his family. his father is the one with all the assets, everything that his mother ever wished for herself and her future children, as well as the future of those children. they ended up with only dylan as a blessing to their small family, but he became more than enough. dylan is put through the best schools, given the best opportunities, taught that everything he wishes to have is at his fingertips.

all he has to do is touch and it’s his. 

he works for it though, from the bottom to the top. dylan puts in all he needs, the mental strength, the will, the desire to make it where his father sits everyday as he tells him of the tribulations of their lineage. of his grandfather, and the first of their generation. of the little they managed to make grand and theirs. 

from very little, dylan is taught that as accessible as it all is, it is not an easy task to carry his inheritance. there will be sacrifices for his blood to be kept warm, for him to give his due. there will be things he won’t be able to get his hands on, for him to keep looking up and keeping climbing.

it’s not all golden roses. 

dylan accepts it all, because he is a good son, always has been. because he appreciates the privileges, because this is what he’s born to be. this is who he’s been raised to become, a man of many choices, with only one worth to be sought. it’s not just like that with his career or family affairs, it is like that with his relationships around him as well.

the friends he has are curated in the same fashion he does with the lines of clothing they own. he never gives up, he’s always set on what he wants and what he doesn’t, he gently lets it go. 

what he wants and does not seem to be easy to get, he finds ways to bend the corners, shape it to fit in the palm of his fingers. has this led to some questioning obtainment of contracts, closing deals? maybe. most definitely. 

for every victory, there is a loser, there is a winner. 

there is a story to be told of how these battles were won. rumors mixed in with the truths, dylan has never thought of giving any explanations for the things he does. the way he does them. his father has taught him that it is never necessary. 

It was not a routine, but Insoo wouldn’t mind growing into it. His apartment in the heart of Seoul had never been meant to be lived in as much as he did these days. It’d been more of a sanctuary for when he was tired of planes, flights, when he wanted to rest, lay low. Play in the studio, give back to the small audience he’d acquired and jealously wished to keep awake at the odd hours he’d chosen to broadcast.

It was a secret between them, of sort. Things that occurred during those hours always felt like they were meant to never be spoken. Mornings had always felt more like the end of a segment, rather the beginning of a day for him. Yet, these days, he’d grown a habit. The habit of brewing two cups, filling his and leaving the other empty until he could hear Ara’s footsteps.

Her quiet sighs, the ones she always had when he knew she was awake and did not want to be. They always made him smile, today, it was on the edge of his cup of tea. Coffee after a night lacking of any sleep was not a good idea, he’d learned early on. But coffee was more than necessary for the girl entering his kitchen now, hair disheveled but looking like they’d been purposefully made to look as such.

Meaning, she looked just as good just out of bed as she did if she’d spent an hour getting ready. A different level of stunning, but still nothing to debate on whether or not she would be turning a few heads. She was a natural at this. A little sad that she was stuck in an office, doing a job that most girl with her appeal would skip over the promise of cameras and the love of million of admirers.

She could easily dump it all and become a model. Or better yet, find a man who wanted to take care of her and never have to work for a dime in her life. But Ara was working, she also looked to enjoy working. In fact, that was part of her charm. That she hated waking up at these odd hours, but the one time she’d been late to her routinely timed wake up hour, she’d been frantic and disappointed and buzzing with the energy to head out as soon as possible.

It’d taken Insoo to shout above her words to calm her down and promise her she’d make it, so long as she stopped panicking over it and let him take her. Had that been the first promise he’d made to her and had felt more than proud to have been able to keep? No. But it’d been the one promise where he’d felt happy to be useful.

Where he’d noticed something change. A trust. A chip in the balance of it, the way she’d heaved, looked at him in his driver’s seat, taken her belt off, been ready to leave but then had leaned in quickly, fervently and kissed his cheek with glee and then jolted out of his car. Insoo had to say, he’d do it all over again if only to see that relief replay over her face over, and over again. 

This was a mellowed version of it. When she had her eyes open finally, blinking at him when she noticed him, then immediately moving to her empty cup to fill it with the freshly brewed coffee that actually only awaited her. 

“Slept well?” 

She turned to face him, from opposite ends, he watched her take a sip first before she could reply. Almost as if the warmth of the beverage was necessary to undo the knots in her throat, to undo the mute state she seemed to always wake up in. 

“You know your bed is magical.” “Not me, but my bed?” 

Insoo knew the effect of the caffeine were working when she cracked a smile. He wondered often if she knew how easy she was to read--sometimes. When she didn’t pay attention to what she wanted to say and it was jsut written there, all over her face. Especially when she had an idea and she knew it might not be conventional of her to voice it out. 

“You’re the bonus.” She was not shy per say, but she lowered her gaze to the floor and Insoo could tell the signs of her beginning to feel the rise of a blush. It sometimes mirrored his as well, but today he had the opportunity to watch hers only rise to the surface. 

“I offer the bed and I’m only the bonus?”  “Yeah, but see the bed is the usual paycheck, whereas the bonus is that extra that is exciting to have any time you get your hands on it.” 

She’d had more than a few sips now, he could definitely tell. She was thinking. Those gears, in her brain, working what made her probably choose the career she’d chosen. She moved from the counter and as she came towards him, it struck him that Ara herself had been growing a habit.

One that was emptying his closet from some of his shirts, “That’s mine.” 

“What?” She stopped, he pointed to the shirt she was wearing with his cup. 

“This? No way,” Ara held the hem, her fingers twisting the material, in the middle of his kitchen, about to close the distance between them but stopped by his words. She was in the perfect spot for the sun to come through and practically put a spotlight on her, a halo of her blonde hair and how it played against the pink of his shirt that she was apparently going to argue did not belong to him. 

“Your name’s on it, mine however--” “Your name is on it?”  “Well, yeah! Look,” 

She seemed excited, this was the gaze, the one he’d thought about earlier. The one that read, I’ve done something that will speak of the mischief I can cause all by myself and get away with it. Ara unbuttoned her shirt without a second of hesitation, after she’d carefully put her cup away of course. 

Her hands working fast on those buttons so she could show him some handiwork. He was sure she’d done something worth witnessing. That she felt no hesitation in undressing in his kitchen, despite the opened curtains or his eyes on her, spoke volume of that trust he’d gradually instilled in her. 

That and the comfort she must have around him. It was warming. Heart warming, mind warming. A balm that had him chasing her fingers as they moved, revealing each expanse of skin like undoing the bow of a neatly wrapped gift box.

That was a fitting description. 

“Hold on a second, okay,” 

He was holding on, to his cup, to her body, moving around the kitchen. To the sight of pink, and the travel he caught of it on her stomach up to her throat and as quickly as he’d caught it, it was gone and she was next to him now. 

His shirt sprawled on the counter, her fingers having found something, a lipstick he realized once she started moving it on the material of his shirt. Forgotten was everything else but the words she was quickly drawing too. Big sized, medium sized, small sized. 

In various areas. Just writing and writing. All on the back of the shirt.

Red to pink and bold ; Ara’s.

“You see it right?” She looked up, leaning on her elbows, the end of her lipstick to her mouth. Pushing against her lip, the way his own found they enjoyed doing just as much.

Insoo could see it. He could also do nothing else but nod at her handiwork, at her eyes searching his, at how she was softly matching the color of his shirt. Red lips, rosy face and he couldn’t help but be drawn in to get the warmth he knew it would give to his lips, to kiss her cheek. 

How else could he win when the truth was not dormant in her searching and knowing eyes the halted steps of his heartbeats. 

the sweetest of upbringings was gifted to her. from very young, through her teenage years and following right through adulthood, harin has never lacked anything. everything she ever wanted, she was given. she knows of her luck, her fortunes. she feels them in every person who tells her of a different story. 

harin is not the typical case, she’s the one most people aspire to. the balance in her life is due to the close knit family dynamics that her parents, and grandparents, and grand grandparents and great grand grandparents and on and on and on, have chosen to uphold from generations to generations.

one of the main reason why it works could be linked to the magic in their blood. in a world where what is not entirely human has been through many turmoils. from being sought, to being hunted, from being wished, to being shun. if one did not stick together to keep themselves out of harm, to protect themselves, to keep the circle growing and evolving, it would be easy to be dismantled. to be torn apart.

so when the first of the jung’s family asked of them all, to never forget that family matters more than any other battles out there. they respected his words, his wisdom. for he was a great sorcerer of his time. 

a healer, a warrior of peace. carrying his words like a weapon, spreading his wisdom to everyone. he held no price to his teaching, did it for the good of others. he did what most magicians refused to do during a war among humans and magical creatures, he gave assistance to both party.

the only rule he ever went by was to never offer a helping hand to anyone who dared to cause any harm to anyone who carried his blood. a warning that was not taken seriously at times and came with dire consequences. the kind of consequences that made his position as healer of all, turn venomous for those who thought themselves above all punishment. 

it is the first story harin is told by her mother when she discovers that her hands have the ability to take away pain. to heal wounds. to make scars fade. to appease an aching heart. it goes well beyond any physical ailment. it is also the ones deep within, the one that cannot be soothed with mere pills, or by letting them heal.

the scars of the past, trauma carried for years. harin’s hands they could reach deep within and undo all of those knots, make one release a breath that was not strained from years of silenced sufferings. 

much like the first of the jung’s however, these hands could undo every good they gave. with consequences of their own, consequences that had taken away the first of her lineage. his tombstone still lay somewhere under the ground of their family’s most cherished mansion. at times, harin likes to head to his tombstone, to sit and meditate. 

Sohee had a tendency to be so absorbed in her job, everything that pertained to it. Every details she had to put together for her clients. It took most of her attention, had her so focused that she cared none about anything else but the moments where she had to put the outfits together then put it on the models themselves. 

Jay was no exception to that rule. He was to many others, but to that one? Not really. She was methodically going about her task, there was no rush to it too. She liked having the time of the day, just to put him together as much as she could. Take her time, ponder. 

Lose herself in the fitting, the color matching, the theme matching. He’d need room to move, so no to anything too tight. Anything looked on him though, he had that advantage, loose or fitting, swimming in it or tight to the skin, Jay had a natural charm for any style.

She loved dressing him up for anything, for his fans’ pleasure, for the hosts’ to appreciate, for her coworkers to never let anyone else but Sohee pick his outfits, for her own pleasure. But not being the exception to the rule, did not mean that Jay didn’t have his own way of breaking through her haze.

Well, there was really only way he’d managed to gather. Closed distance.

Those times when she had to get up close and personal and suddenly it felt like an opportunity, never before she was done though, or else she’d dismiss him. Not easily, but she would anyways because her work came before most other things, even if those other things included the usual flush he could bring to her skin--neck to face, whenever she was caught under his gaze. Or touch. Or words. 

So Jay usually seemed to know exactly when to strike, the last of the detail being put around his neck, across his shoulder. White sash, falling over the open pans of his jacket, the pins held between her teeth being tugged so she could fix them properly. 

Her face so close, to his neck, breathing and absentmindedly mirroring his pulse. The steady rise and fall of his chest and Sohee’s sudden stillness as she put the first pin in the material. Jay’s hand against her back was the cause of it. Palm pressing, fingers open and grasping, doing nothing else but holding her there.

It was the first call to attention, the first one Sohee was noticing, not the first one he’d attempted. Usually by then, he’d attempted various time to distract her, not insistently, just testing how far before he could get her to look at him. Just like that, like she was doing now, her eyes wide and searching.

The red of her lips, that she pursed whenever she swallowed, whenever she was nervous. Jay would know, when Sohee dropped her fingers from the sash, from everything else that was around him and suddenly found another focus on him. His shoulders, or his arms--he’d know then that he had it.

That attention he’d been testing and trying to steal, he had it there and Sohee was leaning into him without a second thought. Without hesitating. The room emptied itself--literally. They’d begun before Sohee had even started, someone had mentioned that it was rather uncomfortably sickeningly sweet to watch her work on him. 

Sohee was known to be focused but with Jay? That doubled. The perfectionist in her and the lover in him, the one he was to her, all mixed together made for something sizzling, most would agree. It felt too intimate to stay put and observe her in her ritual in getting Jay ready for an event or a show. How they could manage such a thing? Maybe only the both of them had the secret answer to that, maybe. 

For now, Jay’s shoulders were happy for the weight of her forearms against them. His nose was gladly shifting against hers as she rose to his height, her back warm against his palm, then his other palm. Both of his hands gladly fitting her closely, more closely, keeping at bay any distance he’d respected for the whole ordeal. 

Maybe that was why she ended up giving into the tenderness he brought out of her when he finally asked for her to give him more than a few touches, more than practiced professionalism. More than what she was supposed to do. Maybe it was because Jay was patient with her craft that Sohee felt melted to the bones whenever he finally made it known, he wanted her against him, the air gone from her lungs.

It could very well be that, the respect he put in her work made her affection for him, the starved one she usually forgot to pay attention to. Rise faster to the surface. Either way, Sohee was never reluctant, once her mind at peace, once her work done, to lean in, to let Jay take what he wanted.

If it was a kiss, it was. If it was a soft, for seconds only peck, then it was, his lips leaving hers after but never going too far. If it was a second, then a third, then a fourth. Growing more pressing each time his mouth found hers, then so be it. 

He could take the sounds from her throat, the pitch of it, from the heat of his hands to her hips and her fingers in his hair. He could also swallow his name from her lips, her breath, her gasp. Then kiss the bashful smile she had on when all stopped but her heartbeats against his chest. 

“Hey, stop.” Sohee said, without much conviction, remember, they had time. She was so efficient that they always had time. Before it would have been spent with him wording what he wanted to do, clumsy at times. The attention would be given in the subtle shade of her skin going pink, in her disbelief that everyone else’s ears were wide open and listening in on what Jay was suggesting.

With his eyes and with a smile meant to disarm.

Now that she was bare and his though, that time was meant not to spar, but to give into that passion that used to linger. Free to disperse itself and almost consume them. 

Almost. 

Sohee was still level headed enough to know when to stop, she thought so at least. 

“Just one more time.” 

Although, the universe must be mocking her resolute and self assured thought because Jay was leaning in and she was meeting him halfway. To be fair, she’d done her job, he’d stayed patient until the end, they still had seconds in their favors.

from / accepting

Junho & The things he’ll never admit

That he’s frustrated by the fact that he has no control whatsoever over the way he feels, that he’s not as put together as he makes it out to be most of the times. That the idea of sharing his life with someone is something he’s always wanted to have. That he’s always fallen for people who were inaccessible because he’s still not over his first love. That he hated growing up and would have preferred to never become the adult he’s meant to be. A lot of other things that we’ll keep quiet about. 

Insoo & The bad memories and experiences in his life. 

Relative visits with cousins who had both parents, dotting, cherishing, showing Insoo what it is like to have more than just toys, wanting to include them in their dynamics only to make things a little worse because the boy could not find it in himself to feel like he belonged. He didn’t. Finding out in college that he’s never thought about his future and had no idea who he was, what he wanted and experimenting with various drugs that left him with the inability to find deep sleep now, but at least he’s clean of all and everything now. Especially of the memory of the sexual experiences that occurred from blacked out moments. Etc. 

Haeri & Her ( petty ) grudges and vendettas 

well this was strange. mellie had to blink a couple more times to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, or in an alternative reality. all things considered though, walking on earth was an alternative reality all on its own. the first time she’d taken her first steps, she’d been more than thankful for the empty beach she’d found to witness her tumbling and wobbling. but this--this was not in a quiet place, she was sitting next to someone else and something was happening on the screen of their television, in the movie they were both settled on watching. something that was prompting a reaction out of her. a wet, rolling down her cheeks reaction that she’d curiously touched with her fingers and had tasted to find that it had the same saltiness as her beloved world. the nostalgia made it double and now mellie was breathlessly laughing, frowning and stood in a jolt, “what is this and why won’t it stop?” half shouting, half crying as she wiped them off her cheeks and just felt them rolling down some more. she knew of tears, she’d seen them, had found the idea that one could have water flowing out of their eyes rather--ridiculous. never thought she’d experience it and now--how did one go about making them stop ?!

same background, different paths. 

dylan will always follow his parents’ leadership, while also trying to shape his own out of what they dictated for him. one of the reasons for that was because he’d never hated them, his mother was a good mother. his father was an even more amazing dad. they’d given him so much. for him to turn around and deny that would be denying a part of himself. 

it would be turning a blind eye on the privileges they’ve always allowed him to have. he could understand that most people could not fathom the idea of their lives being set in stone, not having the freedom to do as they wished. but dylan had never seen it like that.

on the flip side, he understood where misun came from more than half of the time. they’d grown around the same type of parents’. misun had always fought against it rather than embracing it the way dylan had however. because to misun, being tied had always felt like a theft of who he was. from very young, they’d fought for different things, objectives, with different weapons

misun had a fist for a mouth, bruised knuckles for defenses and dylan only ever had his appearance and his words. however, when they sat together and let themselves be in the silence of a warm meal. a restaurant where misun was forced to dress like the son of one of the wealthiest families, right next to his best friend. 

all they had to do was nod at each other and they understood. 

their minds had always felt a bond stronger than their differences. smart men, who knew what they desired and how to obtain what they desired. they’d grown from the foolish teenage years to the blacksmith of their forged weapons.

misun’s laid in plain sight, of course not all the time. he kept it away from them meeting and catching up. dylan always carried his. wit and words, they were good for that. light weight and easy to carry unlike guns and any other physical weapon meant to harm or defend. 

well, that and numbers. he was good with his numbers too. 

on to this dinner though,

“so, patrolling hm?” “god, don’t mention it. he thinks i am a newbie.” “you got hurt, he’s just trying to protect you.”

misun shook his head, cleaned the corner of his mouth with the napkin on his thighs. as far as manners went, no one could suspect him of having learned or even using everything he’d learned. but etiquette was instilled in them. it didn’t matter how roughly misun wished to shove it aside, it always had its turn, always peeked right and left.

never quite disappeared, it was like learning how to speak. 

“no, this isn’t for me.” 

this took back to some years back. this brought memories of the last time misun had ever spoken to his family about what he wanted to do, the last fight before they relented and let him do as he wished. the night he’d taken to more than a few bottle of soju and dylan had watched him drown in the anger he’d felt. the injustice of it all.

---

they’re not looking out for my future, it’s always about their reputation, this isn’t for me, it’s not, it’s never going to be, they don’t care about me! vehemently, then the softest tone when he’d yelled and had enough drinks to simply want to lie down and sleep. no one ever has. 

---

“how can you be so sure?”  “it’s just how things work.”

He sits with ankle propped up on his knee, icy eyes focused on the ball of pitch black tendrils levitating above his palm. The shadows had always been his favourite play thing, but it’s clear that they no longer heeled at his will. The way the sphere morphed and faded with each passing second has his brows furrowing together before he harshly closes his fingers into a fist, nails digging into skin. The darkness dissipates from the space between his fingers and a low groan, turned growl, catches in his throat.

Chair rocks under his weight when he gets up to pace back and forth again, irritation getting the best of him yet again. It came and went in waves. On some days he’d wake up with a new feeling of life in his bones, and he knew that someone out there was praying to any god they could name. And other days he’d barely roll out of bed, drained before even doing a thing. And he hated it. He hated not feeling like the world, both above and below, were his to rule. Even his underlings had gotten snappy around him.

“ Do you have anything better in mind ? ” 

He quips back, unamused. Positioning himself in front of the mirror beside her, he runs his hands down the lapels of the jacket he’s dawned. Silver accessories weaved across his attire like the chains of the underworld themselves. “ What are you plans for the night ? Am I supposed to follow you around blindly ? The tables have turned, but they haven’t been flipped upside down just yet. ” A smirk and a short laugh as he turns to face her. A formidable warrior and a formidable confidante to have in the mortal world. Hades was more grateful for company than he would let on.

Ceryan had a roll of her eyes, the idea that the tables had turned at all, or that he was thinking about it in such a way was beyond ridiculous. There would never be greater than the Gods themselves. There would never be greater than the one she was born to follow and answer to. 

But she was getting a little tired of having to repeat the same thing, besides, they both knew that there was no truth in those words. She attributed the comments themselves to the loss of most of the power he had, she would be mad too, but his existence made it possible for her to even breathe and so, there was truly nothing to linger on.

No bitterness, nothing else but--as of right now--the need for a little distraction. It was more than exhausting, always being in these mortal’s emotions. Their vengeful tendencies had grown tenfold in this day and age. It seemed that everyone had it out for someone, it was a good thing she didn’t have to answer to all of them, especially if the reasons behind their desire to harm could be seen as a sin itself rather than righting a wrong. 

“I told you this morning, you forgot, yet again, who was it this time?” She was simply referring to who was it that he’d had in his bed this morning that’d managed to distract him through their phone call and then enough to have him forget the event of the night. 

“Anyways, it’s a little surprise.” She gave him a smile, tilting her head, finishing up and standing to straighten her dress, undo the wrinkles before she reached and let her fingers curl around his elbow, “Some bloodshed, some bets to be made,” She explained as she led them out of her bedroom, the sound of her heels an echo in each room they passed by before reaching the door of her apartment. “A modern arena, one of your siblings might have something to do with it.”

joy is sweet. much like the treats she enjoys baking. joy’s fondest memories are of her hands in a mix of flour, eggs, milk, covered by bigger, firmer, rougher palms as her father helped her bake her first cake. even the failure to get it to the shape she wished to then, could never tarnish the memory of her father’s smile as he took that first bite.

what had he looked like? like this was the best thing he ate in his whole life. with a smile, as he invited her on his lap and helped her get a bite of her own. the taste of it, joy does not remember it that well. all she knows is from that moment onward, she never found something that could beat the feeling of that day.

there’s a common name for it. satisfaction. contentment. happiness. love. joy. mostly, then, joy felt it like pride. in her teenage years, she realized it was love and more than a little bit of happiness. as her father watched her grow, no longer needing to hold her hands through the dough. 

because joy grew enough strength to fix herself any pastries she wished to learn. as he did so, so did joy watch him grow more and more fond of her treats. to the point of stopping the protests he once had about her mingling about in his kitchen. 

the man had his own pride too. a great cook, owning a great local restaurant in their small neighbourhood in the city of changwon. seeing almost lose it when he’d lost the one thing that came first for a long time, it made joy almost lose faith in the feeling. that feeling. that love. the one that beats between two people, or more. 

so joy has this little guilty pleasure of a thought, an association of sort. from pastries, to happiness, to love. joy thinks, genuinely believes, that from the dough of a baked good, one can find the greatest love of them all. it is because of her father’s smile and teaching.

the warmth he seemed to carry each time he packed some of her baking to head to work. the laughter that bubbled back to the surface, through the crack of a shell he almost became with the departure of her mother as she lamented losing to him in a tasting challenge and vowed to take her revenge. 

the constant messages he now sends her to make sure she packs something for him once each two weeks. that he misses her cooking and she ought to make sure to remember it, like a duty. 

it never feels like a duty.

it feels like joy is still seven years old and learning how to make the same warm meals her father used to make for her and her mother. to keep them loved. to make them feel cherished. it feels like joy is that little girl trying to convey in the same manner to her father that he’s loved and he is cherished. 

that joy appreciates everything he’s ever done. that joy will never let him go. 

that as long as he is her father, he shall always find the happiness he deserves. 

rosalina is multifaceted. but one has to be with the type of power she can handle. it could be the years harvesting these abilities, the souls she’s had to lock. that invisible cupboard where they all sit, not rotting, she takes good care of her collection. they are pristine, they do not moan in pain and suffering.

rosalina does not feed off that, she feeds off the life they hold within. gaining a soul does not mean the end of the human’s life. it just means everything that they experience is now a source of power for her. they’re, in a way, the roots of her own survival. 

it is however, part of a practice that is shun upon in the world she belongs to. the universe of witchcraft. they consider the control of humans’ souls in order to attain immortality, eternal youth and everything else that comes with it--dark magic.

in fact, rosalina’s entire lineage is part of the darkest practitioners, each respectively of their times. rosalina is the modern kind of her ancestors. she might even the only kind these days. because most of the members of her family have relinquished the desire to follow through with their traditions.

as much as they chastised for it at the beginning, she’s still flourishing and she still refuses to do anything else but what serves her. what makes her grow more powerful. what is the point of having the means to do it and yet just to let it go to waste?

ages old spells and potions that were handed to her from hand to hand by her late great grand mother. these were sacred. precious, cherished teachings.

plus, technically speaking, there is no harm done to any humans. it is simply a contract. a witch, although unbeknownst to your knowledge, offers you everything you’ve ever dreamed of in a steaming cup of tea. sometimes whether you’ve asked for it or not. 

but the moment you step in her establishment, it is a hidden clause that you cannot leave without ordering a beverage. some believe in the magic she claims it does, some do not. however, she’s not feeding lies. she says it plain and simple.

a cup of your dreams, for a fountain of my longevity. 

they are mostly fascinated by the idea of it all, often times amused by her charming smile. more often than not, curiosity is all that sparkles in their greedy gazes. 

rosalina will hold no blame for what occurs when they die without their souls, for it is excruciating and often times than not, ends in the shell of their bodies lingering around in the world of the living. if you’ve guessed it, it is correct, rosalina has a distaste for ghosts for that particular reason itself.

it is the only downside to her practices. because to spirits and ghosts, she cannot do any harm. some choose to haunt her throughout the years, one has never left her to this day. 

most of them though, eventually turn to something else.

there’s an abundance of things to do in the afterlife. rosalina would know. she had a glimpse once upon a time. a time when her real name was a tool to her undoing.