Haunt’s Hoard

anyway i wanted a memento of my first pride, you know, and this one vendor was selling keyrings, and i liked it, so i bought one. do you remember those italian charm bracelets that were all the rage like 10-15 years ago? it was a keychain like that, and it had a rainbow rooster, a rainbow cat, and then just a rainbow, and so I bought it.

i run into my mom a couple of vendors over and she goes oh you bought something? what’d you get? so i showed her, and i was like, “I’m not sure why it’s a rooster and a cat. Seems kind of random. But I liked the rainbows.”

and my mom, who was some form of minister’s wife for most of my childhood and teenagerhood, stares at me like she thinks i’m joking.

“What?” i say.

…relic…

my brain at 12:00 am on june 1st:

It was all just a show, anyway. They did it every year. They brought out a selection of criminals, and the Sorcerer who ruled us showed his power by bringing about their deaths by magic. Just to show, every year, what happened to anyone who crossed him.

There was a time, probably, when the people he executed really were rebels or assassins. In latter days he had to take what the dungeons offered. I was dragged up in chains between a pickpocket, sobbing in terror, and a man who’d killed another man in a brawl. There were few criminals of any note, by then. So instead of choosing the wickedest criminals, they chose based on appearance. The man who’d been in the brawl had a face like a clenched fist, and looked like a ruffian. The pickpocket, aging and with hands beginning to tremble, was a different kind of example. As was I.

“There aren’t many pretty ones, this year,” the man who chose me had said, examining me. “But this one will do. Not young, but not old, a woman, well-favoured enough for the gallows… what was her crime?”

The warder shrugged. “She tried to kill one of the sheriffs.”

The man looked down at me and I shrugged. “I hit him with a washing stick, because he tried to extort money from me, and he was a baby about it.” I refused to treat this as anything but pathetic, even after my sentencing. “I didn’t even break any bones.”

“Treason, then,” the man said, nodding. “Attacking the servants of the law. That will look well on the list. Send her.”

I had been debating ever since what to choose. Something quick? Something painless? I considered demanding that I suffer the attack I supposedly made on the sheriff, but then I realized the Sorcerer would only give me what the man had said I was going to do, and that was not a pleasant way to die. I had all but decided on something swift and relatively painless. Beheading with the sharpest of blades sounded good. It would be quick. 

Nicole: What if we just didn’t tell her? Wynonna: This is not a secret wife, Nicole.

Currently: Rumi, Mira, and Zoey have had the sanctuary of Celine’s (and now once again Rumi’s) home broken by the arrival of reporter Miyeong and her unwilling partner, Minji. Before Miyeong could start asking questions about the mystery of Rumi, Mira’s abduction, or the death of Mira’s brother, they received news of a fire at Minji’s hospital—the same one the girls had been treated at.

But there is definitely something off.

Rumi swallows nervously, picking up the broom, and Zoey… Zoey thinks about how they met. About how Rumi told them to leave her in Hell. About how casually, even now, she throws out self-deprecation.

She makes a quick pivot.

“Give it to me straight,” she says. Flashes a crooked smile. “Or queer, or whatever kind of unlabeled you’re into. How’d you end up with an order of worshippers all these centuries later?”

Rumi’s anxiety fades in favor of a flush as she mumbles, “I never wanted worshippers.”

“C’mon—“ Zoey gestures to her. “—with all that going on? I’d fall down at your altar any day.”

The cheesiness works wonders. Rumi laughs, loosening. “Fair lady, I am but a homely servant in your presence.”

(Maybe, some small part of Zoey thinks, all those over-earnest compliments have just been exactly this. It’s not like anyone’s ever flirted with her as anything more than a joke.)

The new quiet is… easier.

Rumi rolls back on her heels, and sighs, glancing down the hall. “I only ever wanted to help people. If I was given power, strength, that meant I ought use it to defend the weak, didn’t it? If I had a home, why should I give it up to some mainlander cousin of my father’s who had no sense of our community? And why should I not share it with those whose homes were not safe to them?”

“Last night…” Zoey bites her lip, hoping she hasn’t interrupted the flow. “Last night, you said you’d known more monsters like Mira’s family.”

Rumi nods. “I often met women who gave similar accounts of their husbands, or children of their parents. Widows, as well, who had been taught they were not to support themselves without a husband and were not to remarry. It was only later that Gwi-Ma came to the island.”

“One woman social services,” Zoey says, struck with a terrible kind of feeling that gets deep, deep into her. Oh, she’s down bad.

Rumi’s blush returns with a vengeance. “I was not alone! I could not have done anything without Chaeyoung, or Hana, or Eunjae, or Jin—“

Her lips flatten. She looks away.

Zoey doesn’t know what to say here. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s always so bad at this part, never enough.

She reaches out and takes Rumi’s free hand, the one not holding the broom. “You’re not alone.”

Minji kicking her ankle hard interrupts her.

“But?” Rumi asks, softly. She knows there is one.

Zoey sighs. Swallows. “But we gotta look at what the idiots are saying.”

Rumi nods and takes her hand back, picking up the broom. “I have always had my critics.”

(An understatement. But those who slandered her rarely understood her actual faults, merely disagreed with her regarding the fact that others had a right to safety and respect.)

Zoey gives her a nervous look, clearly searching for any idea for them to avoid this, before giving in and taking up Mira’s phone once more.

It takes her a few minutes and some mumbling about ‘anglocentric biases’, but finally, her frustration gives way to a wince, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, and Rumi knows she has found it.

“Tell me,” she says.

///

“Would you prefer I tell you about myself?” Miyeong asks, utterly miserable but happy to throw herself under the bus as long as it keeps Minji from shutting down again.

(Are they friends? Miyeong’s embarrassing herself in front of pretty gorgeous tall women for her, she thinks they might be friends.)

Celine, to her surprise, doesn’t say no. She doesn’t say yes, either, but she doesn’t say no.

“Well, I like piña coladas, and getting caught in the rain, and… terrible American music from before I was born,” she said, realizing that joke was not landing at all. Why the fuck would it land? “Or K-pop from the nineties. Or anything, really. Made a brief go at being an idol trainee before my parents decided it would never go anywhere and that I should get a more respectable career.”

That lands, thankfully, as it always does, even if Celine is laughing at her instead of with her.

And really only smirking behind her tea.

They’ll work on it.

(They’ll work on it? Professionalism, Miyeong!)

“Early morning drives,” her mouth adds, without permission.

Miyeong turned to give Minji a betrayed look. "Min," she whined. Minji paused for half a heartbeat as she took in the nickname. Took it in, looked at it and shelved as a buffer between the silence of unanswered calls, frozen pictures of flame licking windows and the news broadcast she'd looked at on her phone detailing that many were still unaccounted for - when a firefighter had emerged in the background carrying someone too limp and charred. She'd closed the screen for fear she'd recognize the victim. A buffer between the horrors of the day and her heart. Miyeong gave a put upon sigh, yanking Minji's head up out of her thoughts. The look that Celine was giving Minji was enough to conclude that she'd zoned out in an obvious way. "You only had to identify me at the ER once." Miyeong grumbled. Minji gave the reporter, her accomplice and partner in whatever madness was unfolding, a withering look. "Only because the other two times you lost your identification and were being transported by ambulance you woke up enroute."

She knows historical accounts can be biased or downright wrong, but this...this is on another fucking level.

Rumi is still standing there, wielding the broom like its- what was the word, not bo staff but oh! that's it!- a jang bong, waiting patiently. Her face is calm, but Zoey's faced down enough painful rumors and gossip in her life to recognize the trepidation in Rumi's eyes.

It never does get easier...

But ignoring...this won't make it go away, so she jumps back to the top and gives the Cliff Notes version.

"Okay, so this guy- he apparently did a whole research project on you, looking up historical documents, studying records, talking to folklorists, the whole nine yards. And he says..." She bit her lip, steeling herself. "...That you were a demon."

"I am," Rumi says calmly. Too calmly. She touches the binding on her cheek, the movement heavy. "It is what these mean."

Part of Zoey wants to grab her hand, pull it away, and kiss the damn binding like in the record shop. But she wants Rumi to keep liking her so she clenches the phone and focuses. "No, like...this."

She turns the phone to Rumi, showing her a scanned image of a painting the researcher included: it's Rumi or, well, something meant to be Rumi. It's similar in art style to the scroll Celine showed her and Mira, but the image it contains is the polar opposite. That one showed Rumi as a proud and noble warrior; this one has given her clawed hands, tusks curling from her mouth, scimitar-like horns protruding from her forehead, long purple hair swirling around her like furious smoke, and a face twisted into an expression of furious hate.

A monster.

Rumi jerks back, chest rising and falling faster than it was a moment ago. "That...they think that is me?"

"Well, plus side if that's what those reporters saw, I doubt they'll recognize you." Zoey shrugs. "So...bright side?"

Rumi bites her lip, then looks steadily at Zoey. "Is that all?"

She wishes it was.

When they finish, Rumi's knuckles are white around the broom and Zoey has officially decided she's never believing a history book again.

"My father was a good man," Rumi says, voice a whisper. "We loved each other very much. I would never have harmed him."

"You don't need to convince me," Zoey says. She honestly can't imagine Rumi harming anyone- well, excepting members of evil cults, but those don't count. Being evil cult members.

"And I did not drive women from their homes. Or turn them mad." Rumi stands tall, looking every inch the ancient hero (which is honestly really hot- focus Zoey!). "I gave them a place to go when the world cast them aside.

"Does this scholar write of the woman in my village whose husband threw her out for talking too much?" She gestures contemptuously at the phone. "Or the one whose husband discarded her when her strength failed to return after bearing twin sons? Or any of the other women who needed help and had no one to turn to? If there was a wrong committed it was not on my conscience."

It's honestly the most fired up Zoey's seen Rumi when she's not pummeling evil cult members to dust. It is very hot, as is the fact that she was . But she can't focus on that right now. Or the fact that she is so lucky she didn't live in the 16th century because if having a motor mouth was a divorceable offence she would have been horrible wife material.

God, this is all so fucked up.

As if on cue, Rumi returns with the broom and dustpan, her face a quiet stormcloud. Zoey follows, lugging the vacuum.

A story meant to scare children—wasn’t that what Celine had said earlier?

“You’re back,” the reporter observes.

“Yes,” Rumi says shortly, heading for the center of the mess. “I… I was not raised with the story you referred to, and neither was Zoey. I doubt there is any relation.”

Was not raised. Sure. Story couldn’t exist if she was living it. Clever. (Mira still hates being out of the loop here.)

The reporter nods, fingers casually carding through the nurse’s hair. “What about you, Celine? You seemed familiar.”

“…I am,” Celine allows warily, barely hiding a grimace at not being able to say no.

Rumi starts brushing together the bigger shards of the bowl. Mira gets up, not so much thinking she could help as that she might be able to sneak some answers in a whisper.

“Wanna tell me some? Everything I’ve read came off some dumb website that might have been AI-generated slop for all I know, talking about demons and mind control and all that.” The reporter smiles.

Whatever Celine is about to say is interrupted by the loud clatter of shards into the trash.

Rumi straightens, now that all the attention is on her. “Why do you wish to speak of Rumi of Jeju?”

Zoey nudges Mira’s hip. Mira takes her phone, glancing quickly down at the glowing screen. An old ink painting of a purple-haired demon stares back at her.

It’s enough. She sticks her phone in her pocket.

“I’m writing a story,” the reporter says, eyeing her consideringly. “People tend not to like it when newspapers publish stories that aren’t true.”

“Is that your goal then?” Rumi asks, and her golden eyes almost seem to glow as she looks at the reporter. “Truth?”

The reporter blows out her lips and starts toying with the corner of a napkin. "It's...complicated."

Rumi fights the urge to growl. Complicated. A coward's word for things they did not think their listeners' deserved to have explained. A word that says 'we know what is best for you' whether or not it truly is.

She does not like that word. She likes people who hide behind it even less.

She shifts her hands on the broom handle, sliding them into a position that will, at a single motion, turn it into a weapon. "'Complicated' things can be explained. One simply has to take the time."

The reporter squints her eyes, tilts her head like a dog that does not know what to make of a whistle; off to the side, Mira smirks in an approving way and Zoey, crouched on the balls of her feet, gives her a little thumbs-up.

The sight flows through Rumi like a hot drink on a frigid day, warm and bolstering. And it is greedy of her, but she grabs onto that feeling and tucks it in a corner of her chest to sip from and savor later, again and again.

(she really is a demonic creature).

The reporter nods, slowly, not taking her eyes from Rumi. "Okay. Fair. I mean," she shrugged, smiling crookedly. "We did barge into your house and disturb breakfast. Which is apparently not customary on Jeju."

Celine-nim's lips twitch, like she's holding back a laugh; the reporter notices and...huh. Her face looks like how Rumi's chest feels when it's full of Mira's smile and Zoey's laugh. Strange.

The reporter starts talking before she can think on it too long.

"Most of the time, when people make a discovery, they share it with the world. Like vaccines or photography or the wreck of the Titanic."

Rumi does not know what any of those are, but she knows enough to file them away to ask about later, when there are not intruders in the kitchen.

"Telling people about those things makes the world a better place. Usually. But sometimes...sometimes a discovery is better kept...quiet."

Quiet. Like the kitchen has become.

The reporter looks around at her audience, glances at the nurse, who gives a little nod and the reporter continues. "In my experience, no matter how fantastic the legend, it always starts from a grain of truth. Rumi of Jeju's story is one about demons. And-"

Celine holds up a hand, face like ice; the earlier hint of a smile is gone. "Is that what you are here for? Chasing after demons?"

The reporter's face does the strange thing again. "More like...investigating. Kind of like on The X-Files. Only without the slow-burn romance thing." She blinks, seeming to only just realize what she said. "Not that there's anything wrong with romance!" She hurriedly corrects, cheeks turning red. "I am all for romance and am totally available..." Another blink, and Rumi can practically see her sink down in her chair. "...Which is not a relevant detail."

By this point her face is putting the tomatoes to shame; Mira and Zoey are nudging each other and sharing looks that are of a similar bent to the one the nurse is shooting at her friend. Celine-nim looks confused.

It is...very strange.

"Anyway." The reporter clears her throat and recovers herself. "My associate and I are investigating some...unusual turns of events. In the past week a university student got kidnapped-"

Zoey wobbles where she's crouched on the floor.

"-and some members of a prominent family went missing."

Mira flinches.

"And we've been seeing signs that appear to point to...well." She shrugged. "We're here consulting a shaman in a hanok that supposedly belonged to a legendary demonic figure. That should say enough."

It does. Too much.

"And if we told people about this it would make...well, pardon my French but the world would lose its shit."

Because that's how it always was with her, wasn't it? Destruction. Chaos-

Celine isn’t sure whether she would have to buy a new broom, a new vacuum, or both, but she’s certainly glad that Zoey regains her balance and turns the vacuum off quickly enough that she doesn’t have to find out.

“Sorry!” Zoey squeaks. “I know I promised to warn you, I just kinda tripped and then I hit the power button and you know how it goes.”

“Miyeong?” Park Minji mumbles, not opening her eyes or moving from where she’d fallen asleep. “Please tell me that we aren’t about to get murdered.”

Rumi-nim flinches. Celine bites back a surge of protectiveness—Rumi-nim is not a child, and would certainly not appreciate intemperate action on her behalf.

“That was a vacuum,” Ryu Miyeong replies, deadpan.

“That’s good,” says Park Minji, still not moving. “I was kinda worried about getting my face bashed in.”

Mira makes a soft, choked sound.

The rest of them go very still. Celine only saw the aftermath, didn’t go through it like Mira, Rumi-nim, and Zoey, but she doubts she’ll ever forget the sight of that man’s corpse.

She knows this has to be worse for them.

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” she says, calmly, firmly.

And, to her surprise, before Ryu Miyeong can even protest, it’s Rumi-nim who says, “No.”

All eyes on her, she looks at Mira, hesitating, her harsh tone softening. “Ryu Miyeong said she wanted the truth. She should not leave before getting it.”

And Mira nods, shrugging with feigned nonchalance. “Gotta wonder what her friend came looking for.”

Miyeong and Minji both look… confused. Maybe even concerned. Something about the way they’re interacting goes against their preconceptions—then again, if they were expecting a demon, everything about Rumi-nim would be fairly surprising.

"Congratulations for getting Park to admit to why she has her exacting standards." Miyeong told the group. "She likes to pretend its merely her being professional." Possibly a bit too glib, but it gave Miyeong a few more precious seconds to organize facts. Minji was the healthcare expert - Miyeong could play people like fiddles. She just preferred honey. Minji - refreshed at least for a little while after her impromptu nap glared at her. Which unfortunately meant that Miyeong needed to tuck away her... appreciation of attractive mundangs. And unpack the courage of the possibly already dead.

"If we're no longer hiding the fact that yes we are aware that Kang Mira's brother is dead -" And there was the spreading alarm Miyeong expected, Minji's hand crushing bone white into Miyeong's shoulder in a silent plea for Miyeong to stop talking,"- but at this point I'm rather more concerned about the fact that I have a recording of myself calling the police to report a dead body and they kept hanging up on me." Silence - Rumi, Miyeong was fairly sure, was watching her friends reactions instead of grasping what that meant. In that quiet, the meaning of that statement registering Miyeong slid her phone onto the table - the recording of her calling the police playing. At this point, Miyeong was glad that Rumi had killed the other Kang. If she had merely severely injured him, he would have gone to the hospital. Probably Minji's given how their luck was going and how the stench from a harbor of rotting fish dragged back to there.

He would have gone to the hospital. And Minji would have stayed. And this morning , an hour and fifteen minutes past- Miyeong's arch-nemesis of years would be dead. Minji Park - one of the most frustrating women alive. But who had listened years ago when Miyeong had called in a panic because Yeonngi had not been answering her and she'd been mistaken for a gilted girlfriend trying to stir trouble when she contacted the police. Minji had asked his coworkers if anyone had heard - and they finally gotten him listed as missing. And when his corpse had been located - Minji had lead her to a small out of the way room to compose herself after identifying him. And stayed with her as her stomach settled, with some overpowering smelling ointment to rub underneath her nostrils to chase away the scent of decay and rot. Minji had come in off shift to "escort her" to prevent her from disappearing anywhere. Yes - that had been why Minji had been keeping her company. Just like how Miyeong would be making sure her remaining source about what was happening - happend , past tense now - at the hospital didn't lose her number. That would be why Miyeong was sticking like glue to Minji. Miyeong waited for the recording to finish - her voice from two days ago rising in frustration and fear as the police operator closed the line after Miyeong identified where the body was located. Miyeong stabbed her fingers down towards the table. "I've been on the look out for flying pigs since two days ago when Minji called me to ask why the hell I wasn't bothering her. And Minji does not like me enough to ask me to bother her, especially not at her work. Historically most of our interactions are her chasing me out of the hospital." A sprinkle of humor, a bit of humanity. Miyeong doled out the social bait - analytical behind her performance. She hated that she was good at playing on people. Her eyes skipped to Zoey - and there was the socially odd one. With the exact same super power of Minji when she was tired of pretending - poor to no innate hold to social guide rails meant capable of coming off at inopportune to her moments. Fortunately, Miyeong had been duking it out with Minji for years. She caught Zoey's attention with a movement of her hand - letting her own eyes focus a bit over Zoey's head. "When Mira disappeared - someone put it in as a transfer. Despite a ransacked room and that the tail end of the abduction had been seen. The active shift at the time and the next shift were actively losing their shit over the fact the police weren't called and that the administration wasn't letting them access to the computer logs to identify who had entered it as a transfer by the time arrived. The only person that we know that was calling attention to the events who is still alive is Minji." Miyeong felt Minji's grip on her tighten again. Yes she would need to be on the look out for survivor's guilt. And in Celine's gaze Miyeong saw comprehension, and Miyeong inclined her head slightly in confirmation. Do we need to be worried about someone trying to finish the job? "Frankly we were following Rumi because things have been strange for two days and reality went out the window when there were two-" "Six," Minji corrected - finally breaking into Miyeong's spiel. Miyeong kept her face composed. She was almost done and it looked like her audience was willing to let her finish. But this was why she'd been keeping an eye on Zoey - when momentum broke... "There were six fake nurses, not just two. I noticed four more before I clocked out." Minji stated - voice tight. "Fake nurses?" Zoey joined - and there went Miyeong's momentum. Oh well. "How did you know?" Miyeong restrained a bitter laugh - instinct understanding that it would not have been taken well.

"Because one was a dead ringer for a photographer I know - ignoring that he was dressed in a nurse's uniform when Jeremy is terrified of blood. It is not a good sign that everyone I've called in the last two days hasn't seen Jeremy in two weeks. And I rather doubt that he's going to call me to tell me about his identical twin. Lastly, on a personal note - I would like to know why there's was a doppelganger of my last boyfriend at the hospital two days ago. Given he's been dead for several years." Miyeong let that hang in the air. Yes Yeonngi may never have been the greatest of men, but he didn't deserve to let something wear his face. Especially not wear his face and be party to - whatever had happened at the hospital.

Celine finally spoke. "Are you sure that he didn't merely, run off and came back?" The woman must be an excellent mundang - her vocal control had her come across as non judgemental despite the inherent tone of the question itself. "Very." Miyeong confirmed - voice flat, tired. "I was the one they asked to identify the body. No one said that they were twisting the rules a bit for the girlfriend to do it instead of his parents - but he worked at the hospital," Miyeong nodded to Minji, "and they knew me. And what I get up to, so they thought that I'd be less traumatized. Know the English short story - The Monkey Paw? The man's son might have been less mangled."

"I'm looking at two people I know having their memories used - possibly in mass murder by arson. I might have personally gotten on whoever's kill list due to my multiple calls to the police. Minji may not be safe depending on if they actually kept track of who was having issues with no reporting Kang Mira being abducted. And I am now concerned how many of the survivors are going to just be more doppelgangers."

“What?” Mira asks, voice flat.

Rumi shakes her head, voice failing her, Jinu’s laughter echoing in her ears, so it is the honored shaman who is forced to explain:

“In the stories,” she says, carefully, “it is said that a first sign of Gwi-Ma’s hand at work was his use of wraiths—beings with the faces of the dead would appear, not acting as themselves.”

“This happened after we closed the gate,” Mira argues.

“And they probably showed up before it even opened!” Zoey points out. “You guys said you saw them pretty much as soon as Mira was abducted, right?”

Rumi hates how kindly they are searching to view the situation. She chokes for air, dust settling over her, as if she is back in that cavern, back in that hell. Chaos and destruction follow her, as they always have, and it would have been far better for them to leave her—

“Rumi.” And then there is a hand on her shoulder.

She scrambles backwards, hands raising as if it might ward off the inevitable blow. Gwi-Ma’s realm is a thoroughly unpleasant place. Gwi-Ma’s realm is a thoroughly unpleasant place. Gwi-Ma’s realm is a thoroughly unpleasant place.

“Rumi.”

Gwi-Ma’s realm is a thoroughly unpleasant place.

“Rumi, can you hear me?”

The voice is unfamiliar, and Rumi shudders at the shock of confusion.

“Okay, that’s good,” it says. “I need you to breathe. Can you breathe with me?”

There isn’t any air, Rumi wants to protest, however childish it would be, but the voice just keeps going. Keeps breathing, until she finds herself matching it instinctively.

“In… and out. Good, just like that. Can you open your eyes?”

Rumi hadn’t noticed they were shut—how embarrassing. She is a warrior, and here she is shaking over her own guilt in front of some stranger like a child.

But Park Minji is, at least, polite enough not to sneer. “Keep breathing. Your friend is going to bring you some water, okay?”

Rumi tries to say she can get it herself, to straighten from the wall she’s backed against, but all that comes out is a humiliating wheeze, her body trembling and letting Park Minji gently push her back.

Park Minji hums, rubbing her hand along Rumi's shoulder, a slow and steady anchor keeping her from the thoroughly unpleasant place. "Okay. That's okay."

No, it's not! Rumi wants to snap back. There was nothing 'okay' about this! She was a warrior, meant to protect, not be sheltered and soothed like a child frightened by a nightmare!

She could not be weak. That was- that was how-

"Keep breathing, Rumi," Park Minji's voice brushes away the image of the cave creeping into the edges of her vision. "You're doing good. And look, here's your friend- Zoey, right?"

"Yup!" Rumi blinks over to where Zoey's appeared beside Park Minji, a glass of water in her hands and a smile (oh that smile...) on her lips. "That's my name, go ahead and wear it out!"

Rumi does not know what she means by that, but Zoey's voice is so bright, so welcome, so...not like the timeless void she'd been trapped in for so long, the tightness in her chest loosens the tiniest bit.

Zoey holds out the glass and Rumi goes to take it; her hands are trembling like a withered leaf, too much for her to grip the glass and not send it shattering to the floor.

(she is pathetic, she is shameful, she is-)

More movement at her side, and Park Minji steps back so Mira's hand can replace hers on Rumi's shoulder. "Easy, tiger." Carefully, she folds her hands around Rumi's to steady them around the glass Zoey places into them; they're warm and soft and caring as she helps Rumi bring the glass to her lips.

Because she cares about her. Zoey too. Even though she's warned them they shouldn't.

It is embarrassing, to be so helpless she needs assistance to take a few dribbling sips; doubly so to be rendered thus by an incorporeal memory. But when her hands finally steady, the water loosens the tightness further, and she feels...more here, they're not scowling with frustration at how hopeless she is.

"Feeling better?" Zoey asks softly as she takes back the glass.

Rumi nods. "Y-yes. I thank you both."

"All in a day's work for your friendly neighborhood med student!" Zoey smiles cheerily.

Mira shrugs like she does things like this every day, keeping a hand wrapped around Rumi's.

Park Minji is back by the table, watching from a respectful distance. Rumi bows her head at her. "I thank you as well, Park Minji-nim."

"Like Zoey said, all in a day's work," she nods back.

"And I...apologize, for you all needing to witness that." Rumi ducks her chin. "And...help me. It- I should be better than-"

"Hey." Zoey takes the hand not currently gripped by Mira and gives it a tug so Rumi looks at her. "Rule number one about panic attacks: it's not your fault. That was beyond your control. Do not beat yourself up over it."

Rumi makes a note to beat herself up over having anything about herself beyond her control instead.

"She's right," Mira says. "It sucks when shit comes crashing down like that. We get it. You don't have to apologize."

Rumi feels she should, but an observation causes her to pivot.

"Where is mudang-nim and Ryu Miyeong-nim?" She asks, just now noticing the kitchen is devoid of two people.

"Your shaman friend suggested-" the way Park Minji says it makes it sound more like 'insisted' "-they go for a walk around the grounds and talk. Give you girls some privacy."

"Yeah, and Ryu Miyeong-nim looked really excited about that," Zoey whispers with a wry grin.

Rumi nodded, processing that, and Park Minji continued.

"You'll all find I'm certainly less nosy than my associate." She gave a little teasing grin as she looked from Rumi to Mira to Zoey and back, like her friend's persistence was a joke between the four of them. "If you want to talk, I'm open to hearing it. If you'd rather not, that's okay too."

In the back of her head, Minji wonders if this is the first time she’s experienced a panic attack of this severity, and if she’s developed any coping mechanisms.

“Uh, well,” Choi Zoey starts, quickly hiding her hesitation behind a smile, “it kind of all started with me getting kidnapped.” She offers jazz hands. Or hand. Given that she’s still holding Rumi’s. “Or with Mira getting born, I guess. Or however that all…”

“My great-grandpa needed leverage for a hostile takeover,” Mira says, deadpan.

“Or…” And she looks at Rumi.

Rumi offers a tired, unhappy sort of half-smile.

“Or?” Minji prompts gently.

“So, uh, let’s say that maybe Rumi of Jeju was real, except she wasn’t really like anything from the stories. She was actually the good guy, and it kind of seems like everyone who wrote those stories was just really pissed about the fact that she helped women get out of abusive marriages,” Zoey says.

Minji blinks.

Rumi looks somewhat awkward. As one might if their good deeds were being acknowledged.

As if she were, in fact, a several hundred year old demon.

“Were… any parts of those legends accurate?” Minji asks.

“I am half-demon,” Rumi explains quietly, bowing her head, starting to shrink in on herself. “I have always done my best not to give in to my nature, however.”

But Mira and Zoey keep her held tight between them. It’s good, Minji thinks, that she’s already found herself some friends.

“Fast forward up to Great-grandpa getting into demons,” Mira continues, rolling her eyes. “And not the fun, nice kind. The blood sacrifice and hospital fire kind.”

Though...the mudang walking alongside her may have something to do with that.

Based on Rei Ami’s insta story with Ejae at the AMAs about Audrey Nuna!