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A door appears where it should not. And a girl steps through it.
In a kingdom that grows rich from gold, y/n is forced to turn straw into something more, while slowly losing her memories.
Years later, when the castle falls, she is found in a forgotten room.
Without a name.
Without a past.
And without knowing what she has lost.
Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Angst, Fairytale Retelling, Romance (slow burn)
Tropes: Rumpelstiltskin retelling, Memory loss / identity loss, Imprisoned heroine, Broken / empty FMC, Soft vs cruel world contrast, Found family, Slow healing romance
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Hongjoong Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |
This is Part 3
Hongjoong had not left her side.
Not when they carried her inside.
Not when the maids rushed in with quiet urgency, their hands careful but quick as they checked her breathing, her pulse, the steadiness of her body.
Not when the physician arrived, older, composed, asking questions Hongjoong could not properly answer.
He stayed.
Even when there was nothing left to do but wait.
The room had grown quiet again hours ago.
The kind of quiet that settled too heavily, filling every corner until even the smallest sound felt out of place. The curtains had been drawn halfway, letting in softened light that stretched across the floor and up the edge of the bed where she lay.
She had not moved.
Not once.
Hongjoong stood near the window at first, his arms loosely crossed, his gaze drifting between the outside world and the still figure behind him. He told himself he was giving her space, that hovering would not help, that there was nothing more he could do by standing closer.
That lasted less than ten minutes.
Now he sat beside the bed.
Close enough to hear her breathing. Close enough to notice the slight rise and fall of her chest, even when it was too subtle to be reassuring.
His hand rested against the edge of the mattress, fingers curled slightly into the fabric as if anchoring himself there.
“She’s stable.”
The physician’s voice echoed faintly in his memory. “It looks like strain. Something mental. Something… resurfacing.”
Resurfacing.
The word had stayed with him.
Because he had seen it.
The moment it happened.
The way her expression had changed, how something had broken through the emptiness he had grown used to seeing in her.
She had not looked lost.
She had looked overwhelmed.
Alive.
And then she had collapsed.
Hongjoong exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to her hand where it rested beside her.
He hesitated.
Then reached out.
Carefully.
His fingers brushed lightly against hers.
A quiet knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” he said, his voice low.
Seonghwa stepped inside first, closing the door gently behind him. Mingi followed, though he remained closer to the entrance, as if unsure how much space he should take in a room that felt so fragile.
“How is she?” Seonghwa asked.
Hongjoong did not look up immediately.
“The same,” he said.
Mingi shifted slightly. “She’s been out this whole time?”
“Yes.”
A pause followed.
Not uncomfortable.
But filled with things none of them said out loud.
Seonghwa stepped closer, his gaze settling on her for a moment before moving to Hongjoong.
“You should rest.”
Hongjoong shook his head lightly.
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t left.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Seonghwa studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“Let us know if anything changes.”
Hongjoong inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
They left as quietly as they had come.
The room fell still again.
Time stretched.
Minutes slipping into something harder to measure.
Hongjoong leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze never straying far from her.
Her fingers moved.
It was small. Barely noticeable. But he saw it.
He straightened immediately, his attention sharpening.
Her hand shifted again.
A faint breath passed her lips, uneven, as though she was surfacing from somewhere deeper than sleep.
“Hey,” he said softly, leaning closer. “Can you hear me?”
Her brows knit slightly. Her lips parted. And then her eyes opened.
For a brief moment, they were unfocused. Distant.
Then they found him.
Her eyes widened slightly, not in fear, but in something that looked dangerously close to wonder.
“I—”
Her voice was soft.
Unsteady.
But there was something in it now.
Something alive.
“I remembered something.”
Hongjoong’s breath caught.
He leaned forward slightly, careful not to overwhelm her.
“What do you remember?” he asked, his tone steady despite the tension that had settled beneath it.
She pushed herself up slowly, her movements hesitant at first before gaining strength. He instinctively moved closer, one hand hovering near her arm in case she lost balance again, but he did not touch her unless she needed it.
She didn’t.
“I remember…” she began again, her gaze drifting slightly, not away from him, but inward.
Her lips curved.
Softly.
It was not the faint, practiced smile he had grown used to.
This one… stayed.
“That I was happy. That I had a life.”
The words were simple.
Her expression transformed as she spoke, the emptiness he had seen before giving way to something warmer, fuller, something that reshaped her entirely.
Her face…It changed.
In the way her eyes held light instead of absence.
“I had a life,” she continued, her voice growing steadier. “I had… people.”
A quiet breath escaped her, almost like a laugh.
“There was someone.”
Hongjoong felt something tighten in his chest.
He did not interrupt.
He did not move.
“I remember how it felt,” she said. “Not everything. Not the details.”
Her hand lifted slightly, pressing lightly against her chest.
“But this. My heart.”
Her fingers curled faintly against the fabric of her dress.
“It was… full.”
The word lingered.
Hongjoong watched her.
Completely still.
And in that moment, something shifted inside him in a way he could not ignore.
It was not sudden.
It had been building.
Since the carriage.
Since the room.
Since the way she had looked at him when she asked what freedom meant.
Now it settled.
He was gone for her.
Completely.
There was no hesitation in it.
No doubt.
Just the quiet realization that somewhere along the way, without him noticing exactly when, she had become something he could not look away from.
Not because of what she could do.
Not because of what had been done to her.
But because of who she was becoming.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay grounded in the moment.
“This is good,” he said quietly. “Really good.”
She nodded slightly.
“It is,” she agreed.
A pause.
Then, softer: “But it hurts.”
Hongjoong’s expression softened.
“I know.”
Her gaze lifted to meet his again.
“I think… there’s more,” she said. “Something I’m not seeing yet.”
“There probably is,” he replied gently.
She studied him for a moment.
“Are you afraid of that?”
The question caught him slightly off guard.
He considered it.
Then answered honestly.
“I’m afraid of what it might do to you.”
She held his gaze.
Then nodded.
“That’s fair.”
A quiet moment passed between them.
Then he said, “We don’t have to rush it.”
Her brows knit slightly.
“I want to remember,” she said.
There was no hesitation in that.
No fear in the statement itself.
Only determination.
“I know,” he replied. “And I’ll help you.”
She stilled slightly. “Help me?”
He nodded. “We can take it slowly,” he said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Her gaze lingered on him.
“You would do that?” she asked.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No conditions.
Something softened in her expression again.
Not the bright warmth from before.
Something quieter.
But just as real.
“Why?”
The question was not suspicious.
It was genuine.
Hongjoong held her gaze.
Because you matter.
Because you deserve more than what was done to you.
Because I don’t want to see you disappear again.
He did not say any of those things.
Instead, he said: “Because you deserve to know who you are.”
She watched him for a long moment.
Then nodded.
Slowly.
“Alright.”
The word was small.
But it carried trust.
Hongjoong leaned back slightly, giving her space again, though his presence remained close, steady, unwavering.
“We’ll start with what you already have,” he said. “The feelings. The fragments.”
She nodded again.
Her hand still rested lightly against her chest.
As if holding onto something that had finally returned.
And for the first time since he had found her in that room, she did not look like someone fading.
She looked like someone beginning.
The days began to take shape.
Not all at once.
Not in a way she could point to and say this is when it changed. It happened quietly, the way most things in her life seemed to happen now. Small shifts, repeated often enough that they stopped feeling unfamiliar.
She woke up and knew where she was.
That alone still felt like something worth noticing.
There had been a time when waking meant confusion. When the ceiling above her felt distant, the room around her hollow, like she had been placed somewhere without context. Now, when her eyes opened, she recognized the light filtering through the curtains, the soft pattern of shadows cast by the window frame, the faint scent of clean linen and something floral she had started to associate with safety.
She did not remember when that change had happened.
But she felt it.
And that was enough.
Hongjoong became part of that rhythm without forcing himself into it.
He did not come every morning.
He did not make it a routine.
But he was there often enough that she began to expect him without realizing it.
Sometimes he knocked.
Sometimes the door was already open and he would simply step inside, pausing briefly as if giving her time to send him away if she wished.
She never did.
At first, their time together had been careful.
Structured.
He would ask questions, slow and deliberate, always watching her expression as if measuring how far he could go without pushing too much.
“What do you remember from yesterday?”
“How did it feel?”
“Does anything stand out?”
She had answered as best as she could, her words uncertain, her thoughts still fragmented.
But as days passed, the questions changed.
Or rather, they faded.
They stopped being the center of their time.
Instead, they talked.
About things that did not matter.
About things that did.
About the castle.
The garden.
Rumple’s training.
The way the sky looked different here compared to what little she remembered of before.
Sometimes they sat in silence.
And that, too, felt different now.
It did not press against her.
It did not feel empty.
It felt… shared.
Her memories returned in pieces.
Sometimes it was a sound.
A phrase. A feeling that settled into her chest so suddenly it stole her breath for a moment before easing again.
And every time it happened, she found him.
Or he found her.
And she told him.
“I remembered something,” she said one afternoon, stepping into the room where he was already waiting, her voice carrying a brightness she did not try to hide.
He looked up immediately.
“What is it?”
“There was music,” she said, moving closer without hesitation now. “Not like here. Softer. It came from… a small box, I think.”
He watched her carefully.
Another time, she found him in the garden.
He had been speaking with Seonghwa, but stopped when he saw her approaching, his attention shifting fully to her without hesitation.
“I remembered something else,” she said.
There was no greeting.
No need for one.
He waited.
“There was rain,” she continued. “And light reflecting in it. It made everything look… softer.”
Her brows pulled together slightly.
“I think I liked that.”
Hongjoong’s expression softened.
“I can show you that here,” he said.
She blinked.
“You can?”
“When it rains,” he replied. “We’ll go outside.”
The idea settled into her.
But strangely important.
“I’d like that,” she said.
It became something she looked forward to.
Not just the memories.
But telling him.
The way he listened.
The way he never interrupted, never dismissed even the smallest detail as unimportant.
The way he treated each fragment as if it mattered.
As if she mattered.
And somewhere along the way, something else began to grow.
She did not notice it at first.
Or perhaps she did, but did not understand it.
It came in the way her chest felt lighter when he entered a room.
In the way she found herself looking for him without thinking.
In the way her thoughts lingered on things he had said long after he left.
It was unfamiliar.
But not unpleasant.
Just… new.
That evening, the castle was quieter than usual.
The sky had already darkened, the last traces of light fading beyond the windows as night settled in fully.
She sat on her bed, her legs tucked beneath her, absently humming a melody she could not fully place.
It had come to her earlier that day.
Not clearly.
Just a few notes.
But they had stayed.
She repeated them softly now, letting the sound fill the space around her, letting it anchor her to something she could not yet name.
A knock sounded at the door.
Before she could answer, it opened.
Rumple stepped inside.
He did not hesitate.
He rarely did.
“There you are,” he said, relief evident in his voice as he crossed the room quickly.
She looked up, her humming fading.
“I was here,” she replied.
“I know,” he said, though his tone suggested something else entirely.
He moved closer, settling beside her on the bed without asking, his shoulder brushing lightly against hers.
The familiarity of it did not unsettle her.
It never had.
He had always been there.
Even when she remembered nothing else.
“I missed you,” he added quietly.
She tilted her head slightly.
“I saw you this afternoon.”
“That was different.”
She did not question it further.
Instead, she smiled faintly. “What do you want to tell me today?” she asked.
His expression brightened slightly.
He always had stories.
Always something to say.
He began talking almost immediately, recounting something from earlier, something about training, about the way one of the guards had corrected him, about how he had almost gotten it right.
She listened.
At first, nothing felt different.
His voice was steady.
Familiar.
Something she had known for longer than she could remember.
But then something shifted.
It was subtle.
Barely noticeable.
A pull. Deep inside her.
She stilled slightly, her smile faltering just enough for her to notice.
Her attention drifted.
The feeling grew.
Not painful. But wrong.
Like something being tugged loose.
Her breath caught slightly.
“What is it?” Rumple asked, his voice continuing, though his eyes had sharpened slightly.
She blinked. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.
The pull intensified.
And with it came something else.
A strange, distant sensation.
As if something was slipping.
Not her past.
Not the older memories she had struggled to reclaim.
Something newer. Closer.
Her chest tightened.
“Wait,” she murmured, her hand pressing lightly against her head.
“I feel…” She hesitated, searching for the word. “Strange.”
The pull twisted.
Sharpened.
And suddenly, a thought surfaced.
Not fully formed.
Just enough to recognize.
Hongjoong.
The garden.
The conversations.
Her breath hitched.
Why did that feel like it was fading?
Confusion flickered through her.
“I think I need to lie down,” she said, her voice softer now, uncertain.
Rumple went still.
For a brief moment, something passed across his face.
Something she did not fully see.
Something she did not understand.
Then it was gone.
“Okay,” he said.
Gentle again.
She shifted back, letting herself sink into the bed, her head resting against the pillow.
The moment she did, the heaviness settled in fully.
Her eyes closed.
Too quickly.
She did not fight it.
Did not question it.
Sleep took her almost instantly.
Rumple did not move right away.
He watched her.
Waited.
Counted the seconds between her breaths.
Made sure they remained steady.
That she was truly asleep.
Only then did his expression change.
The softness disappeared.
Replaced by something tighter. Something strained.
He stood slowly, careful not to make a sound, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned away.
The room felt different now.
He stepped out, closing the door behind him with practiced care.
The hallway stretched empty before him.
He did not linger. He moved quickly.
His steps carried him through the corridors, away from her room, away from the part of the castle that had begun to feel too bright, too open.
Too different.
He reached his own room and shut the door behind him.
The moment it closed, the tension broke.
A sharp breath escaped him.
His hands clenched at his sides.
“No,” he muttered under his breath. “No, no, no—”
He paced once.
Twice.
His thoughts spiraled.
“She’s remembering,” he said quietly.
He stopped, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
“I didn’t finish it.”
The realization hit harder this time.
He hadn’t gone far enough.
He had hesitated.
Again.
His jaw tightened.
“She’s slipping.”
His gaze dropped to his hands.
And for a moment, nothing happened.
Then a flicker.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
His fingers twitched.
And something beneath his skin shifted.
Not human.
Something older.
Something that did not belong.
The illusion wavered.
Just for a second.
Long enough for the truth to show.
Not quite right.
Not quite him.
He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing it back, forcing the shape to settle again, to smooth out, to return to what it was supposed to be.
The transformation faded.
But the strain remained.
He exhaled slowly.
Unsteadily.
“I need more time,” he whispered.
But even as he said it, he knew time was the one thing he was running out of.
She woke before the light fully reached her room.
At first, she did not understand why.
There was no sound that had disturbed her. No movement, no voice, nothing that should have pulled her from sleep so abruptly. And yet she lay there, eyes open, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling as dawn slowly began to stretch across it.
Something felt wrong.
Not in a sharp way.
It was quieter than that.
A hollow feeling, somewhere deep inside her chest, like something that had been there yesterday had shifted during the night and left behind an absence she could not name.
She stayed still for a moment, waiting for it to pass.
It didn’t.
Instead, it grew.
Not larger, but clearer.
Her brows pulled together slightly as she pushed herself up, her movements slower than usual, as though her body needed a moment to catch up with her awareness.
The room felt the same.
Looked the same.
Nothing had changed.
And yet…
She pressed her hand lightly against her temple.
A dull ache had settled there now.
Faint.
But persistent.
Her breath slowed.
She had felt this before.
The realization came slowly, unfolding rather than striking.
In another place.
A different time.
Her fingers curled slightly against her temple.
“This…” she whispered.
This was how it started.
The thought settled in fully now, pulling something tighter inside her chest.
At the beginning.
When she had first come to that castle.
Before everything had faded completely.
She had felt like this.
Unsteady.
As if something was slipping just beyond her reach.
As if something inside her was being taken piece by piece.
Her breath hitched. “No.”
The word came out softer than she intended.
Her gaze dropped to her hands.
They looked the same.
No more gold than before.
No movement.
Nothing that suggested she had used it.
But the feeling it was the same.
And that made it worse.
Her chest tightened.
She tried to think.
To grasp something solid.
Something she knew.
Yesterday.
The garden.
Rumple.
Hongjoong…
Her breath stuttered.
The thought faltered.
Not gone. But blurred.
Like something seen through water.
Panic flickered briefly at the edge of her awareness.
She pushed herself to her feet too quickly, the room tilting slightly around her as the dull ache in her head sharpened.
“I didn’t use it,” she said quietly, more to herself than anything else. “I didn’t—”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” she said, her voice not as steady as she wanted it to be.
The door opened.
Hongjoong stepped inside.
And the moment his gaze landed on her, something in his expression changed.
Concern.
He crossed the room without hesitation.
“What’s wrong?”
His voice was calm.
But there was tension beneath it now.
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could see the way his eyes searched her face, as if trying to understand what had changed.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly.
Her voice felt distant to her own ears.
“I feel…”
She hesitated.
Her hand lifted slightly, pressing again against her temple.
“Like something is missing.”
His brows drew together.
“What do you mean?”
She swallowed.
“I’ve felt this before,” she said, her gaze flickering briefly downward before returning to him. “At the beginning. When I started forgetting.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Hongjoong’s expression tightened.
Immediately.
His hands moved before she could react, coming up to gently hold her face, his fingers resting lightly against her cheeks, grounding her, steadying her.
“Look at me,” he said, softer now.
She did.
Her gaze met his.
“When did this start?” he asked.
“This morning.”
“Did anything happen last night?”
Her thoughts faltered again.
Not completely.
Just enough to unsettle her.
“I…” she started, then stopped.
Her vision blurred slightly.
Not from the pain.
From something else.
A shift.
Her breath caught.
The feeling returned.
Not the emptiness.
A memory….
Hands.
Not his.
Different.
Holding her face just like this.
Gentle.
Careful.
A thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.
A closeness that made her chest feel full in a way that almost hurt.
And then…a kiss.
Soft. Lingering. Real.
Her breath hitched sharply.
The memory settled for just a second longer before slipping again, leaving behind only the feeling.
She blinked.
Her vision cleared.
And Hongjoong was still there.
Still holding her face.
Still looking at her with that same quiet intensity.
And suddenly it connected.
The feeling in her chest.
The warmth.
The fullness.
It wasn’t unfamiliar.
It wasn’t from something she had lost.
It was here.
Now.
With him.
Her breath slowed.
Her gaze softened.
She looked at him differently now.
Not searching.
Not uncertain.
Understanding.
“I know this feeling,” she said quietly.
Hongjoong stilled. “What feeling?”
She didn’t look away.
“This.”
Her voice was softer now.
Almost careful.
Her chest rose slightly as she drew in a slow breath.
“When I remembered before… there was someone.”
A pause.
“I didn’t remember who.”
Her fingers lifted slightly, resting lightly against his wrist where it still held her face.
“But I remember how it felt.”
His gaze did not waver.
“And now?” he asked.
Her lips parted slightly.
Now…
She swallowed.
“It’s the same.”
The words hung between them.
Clear.
Unavoidable.
His grip on her face did not tighten.
But it didn’t loosen either.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Neither of them spoke.
They just looked at each other.
And something shifted in the space between them.
Not sudden.
Not overwhelming.
But undeniable.
Hongjoong’s gaze dropped briefly.
To her lips.
Then returned to her eyes.
Her breath caught.
Time stretched.
The world around them faded into something quieter, something distant, leaving only this moment, this closeness, this fragile understanding neither of them had spoken out loud yet.
And then the door opened.
Without warning.
The sound cut through the stillness immediately.
Both of them turned.
Jongho stood in the doorway, one brow raised slightly, his gaze moving between them with a look that was far too knowing.
Rumple stood just behind him.
“Are we interrupting something?” Jongho asked.
His tone was calm.
But the hint of amusement beneath it was impossible to miss.
Heat rushed to her face immediately.
She stepped back slightly without thinking, the space between her and Hongjoong returning all at once.
“I—no, we—”
Her words stumbled.
Hongjoong, however, did not hesitate.
“Yes,” he said flatly. “You are.”
Jongho blinked.
Then huffed quietly, clearly unimpressed.
“Then I suppose I should leave.”
“You should,” Hongjoong replied without missing a beat.
There was no hesitation in his voice.
No embarrassment. Just blunt honesty.
Jongho glanced at him for a moment longer, then shook his head slightly.
“I’ll come back later,” he muttered, already turning to leave.
The tension in the room shifted slightly.
Y/n exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping briefly before lifting again.
And that was when she looked at Rumple.
He hadn’t moved.
Hadn’t spoken.
His gaze was fixed on her.
There was something else there.
Something sharp. Something she did not recognize.
Her brows drew together slightly.
“Rumple?”
He blinked.
And just like that it was gone.
His expression softened again, the tension slipping away as if it had never been there.
“I just came to check on you,” he said.
His voice sounded normal.
She hesitated.
Only for a moment.
Then nodded. “I’m fine,” she said.
But the words felt different now.
Because something, deep inside her, told her that wasn’t entirely true.
She sat by the window for a long time without moving.
The chair had become hers in the past weeks. Not because anyone had told her so, but because she kept returning to it, drawn by the quiet view of the courtyard below. From here, she could watch the life of the castle unfold without being part of it, could observe without being seen, could think without interruption.
Today, thinking felt heavier.
Her hands rested loosely in her lap, fingers brushing faintly against each other as though she needed something to ground herself.
Hongjoong.
The thought came without effort now.
Since that morning, since the moment he had held her face and she had recognized the feeling blooming inside her, everything had shifted. There was no confusion left about it, no uncertainty she could hide behind.
She knew what it was.
And that knowledge did not scare her the way she thought it might.
Her gaze drifted slightly, unfocused.
Should she tell him?
The question circled her thoughts again, just as it had for the past hour.
She imagined it.
The words.
Simple ones, probably. She had never been someone who needed complicated language to express something that felt this clear.
But every time she got close to forming the sentence in her mind, something held her back.
Not fear.
Not rejection.
Something else.
She shifted slightly in her seat, her fingers tightening briefly before relaxing again.
Rumple.
The image surfaced uninvited.
The way he had looked at her earlier.
That moment when Jongho had opened the door and everything between her and Hongjoong had broken apart.
Rumple had been standing behind him.
Still.
Watching.
And for a second his face had not been right.
She frowned slightly.
It had only lasted a moment.
So brief she had almost convinced herself she imagined it.
But she hadn’t.
There had been something in his eyes.
Something sharp.
Something… wrong.
Her gaze lowered.
Rumple had always been there.
Through everything she could not remember.
Through everything she had survived without knowing how.
He had been constant.
And yet…the memory of that expression did not fit with the boy she knew.
It lingered.
Her thoughts drifted again, seeking something lighter.
Something easier to hold onto.
And as if the world answered her without her asking, movement in the courtyard below caught her attention.
She looked up.
Hongjoong.
He stood among the others, sword in hand, the afternoon light catching against the blade as he moved.
They were training.
Or rather, sparring.
There was a looseness to it, something less rigid than battle practice, more fluid, more alive.
San lunged forward first, quick and precise, his movements sharp, controlled. Hongjoong met him easily, their blades clashing with a clean sound that echoed faintly up to her window.
She leaned forward slightly without realizing it.
Watched.
There was something different about him here.
Not the prince. Not the ruler.
Just… himself.
He moved with confidence, but not arrogance. There was ease in the way he stepped back, the way he adjusted, the way he anticipated the next strike before it came.
Wooyoung said something she couldn’t hear.
Hongjoong laughed.
And the moment she saw it…the way his face softened, the way the tension left his shoulders, the way his eyes crinkled slightly.
She smiled.
Without thinking.
Without hesitation.
It came naturally.
Warm.
And then—
Everything shifted.
It didn’t come gently this time.
There was no slow unfolding, no careful unraveling of memory.
It hit all at once.
A car.
Rain against glass.
A hand in hers.
Laughter.
Then screeching metal.
Impact. Darkness.
Her breath stopped.
The room disappeared.
The courtyard vanished.
And she was somewhere else.
White.
Too white.
A ceiling she had stared at for too long.
Machines.
A constant, quiet beeping that had once been the only thing marking time.
Her body…
She couldn’t move.
She tried.
Nothing.
Her chest rose.
Fell.
But everything else…was still.
A voice.
Distant.
“…she can hear us, we think…”
“…no response…”
“…severe damage…”
Her heart raced.
No…Not raced.
It felt like it should.
But her body didn’t react.
Trapped. She was trapped.
The memories came faster.
A room.
Small. Dark.
Not her apartment.
Not the life she thought she had.
A hospital room.
Weeks. Months. Time blurred.
Visitors. At first. Then less. Then mone.
Her breath hitched.
No.
No, that wasn’t right.
She had…She had a job.
An apartment.
A life…
But the memory twisted. Shifted.
And the truth pushed through.
That life had been in her head.
Her chest tightened painfully.
She saw it now.
The way she had created it.
Piece by piece.
To survive.
A boyfriend who still smiled.
Who still held her hand.
Who wasn’t gone.
A job she still went to.
A place that was still hers.
A world where she wasn’t lying still, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to escape.
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes in the present, though she did not feel them fall.
The memories didn’t stop.
An evening. The room dim. The machines quieter.
Her thoughts drifting.
Not hopeful. Not anymore.
Just… tired. So tired.
She didn’t want to imagine anymore.
Didn’t want to pretend. Didn’t want to exist like that.
She had wanted…
It came clearly now.
She had wanted it to end.
And then…the door.
It had appeared where it should not have been.
Just like before.
Blue.
Standing in a place that had never held one.
But this time, she had not questioned it.
Because there had been nothing left to hesitate for.
A figure stood beside it.
Small.
Not quite human. Not quite anything she could name.
Its voice had been soft.
Almost playful. “Would you like a new story?”
Her breath hitched.
“Would you like a life where you are not broken?”
She had not asked questions.
She had not needed to.
“Yes.”
The word echoed in her head.
Clear.
Final.
And then there was rumple.
But not Rumple. Not the boy.
Something else. Small. Twisted.
Eyes too bright.
Voice wrong.
It followed her.
Through the door.
Into the new world.
At first, it stayed hidden.
Watching. Waiting.
Then it began.
Her memories. Taken.
Not all at once.
The happiest ones first.
The ones that made her feel something.
It fed on them.
Changed.
Grew.
Its shape shifting slowly.
Becoming more human with every piece it took.
She saw it now.
Clearly.
The moment she stepped in front of the king.
The moment she took the punishment meant for someone else.
The moment she gave something away.
It had been there.
And Rumple, the boy she knew, he had come later.
Or rather he had become himself later.
Her breath shook.
The rhyme.
It echoed again.
Not from the door.
From him.
“Name forgotten, name undone,
Threads are pulled and stories spun.
Hold it close or let it fade,
Lose yourself in bargains made.”
Her name.
He had taken it first.
Because names held power.
Because without it she could not hold onto herself.
The memories crashed into each other.
Everything aligning.
Everything making sense.
Everything breaking at once.
Her eyes flew open.
The room snapped back into place.
Her breath came sharp, uneven, her chest rising too quickly now, too fast for the calm she had known moments before.
Everything was there.
All of it.
The past.
The truth.
Her name….the memories crashed into each other.
Everything aligning.
Everything making sense.
Everything breaking at once.
Her eyes flew open.
The room snapped back into place.
Her breath came sharp, uneven, her chest rising too quickly now, too fast for the calm she had known moments before.
Everything was there.
All of it.
The past.
The truth.
Her name she knew it.
She knew who she was.
Who she had been.
What had been taken.
What had been done to her.
She saw him.
Rumple stood in the doorway.
But he wasn’t the same.
Not really. Not anymore.
His expression stretched into something wrong.
Too wide. Too sharp.
Like someone trying to imitate a smile without understanding it.
His eyes they gleamed.
A knife rested in his hand.
Her breath caught.
Her body went still.
She understood.
“I tried to wait,” he said.
His voice still sounded like him.
But beneath it, something else slipped through. Something older. Something that did not belong.
“But you remembered too much.”
He tilted his head slightly, that unnatural smile widening.
“I can’t let that happen.”
Her heart pounded now.
“I have to finish it.”
The words settled.
She swallowed, her voice barely steady. “Why?”
The question left her before she could stop it.
Not pleading.
Not begging.
Just needing to understand.
For a moment, he stilled.
Then something in his expression shifted.
“You don’t get it,” he said quietly.
His fingers tightened around the knife.
“When we were there… when you couldn’t remember anything… it was working.”
His gaze flickered over her face.
Almost accusing.
“You were empty,” he continued. “And I could stay.”
Her breath caught.
“I could be real,” he said, his voice tightening. “I could be human.”
“But here—”
He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head slightly.
“Since we came here… since that prince brought you with him…”
His eyes darkened. “You started to feel again.”
The words came out harsher now.
“You started remembering.”
His grip on the knife tightened further.
“And every time you do, I lose something.”
A pause.
“You’re slipping away from me.”
His voice dropped.
Almost quiet again.
“But I won’t let that happen.”
He looked at her fully then.
Not like before. Not like the boy she had known.
Something else entirely.
“I was so close,” he whispered. “I just needed a little more.”
Her heart pounded painfully against her chest.
“And now,” he said, lifting the knife slightly, “I have to take it all before it’s too late.”
And this time there was no doubt left.
He meant it.
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Hongjoong Masterlist
Oh my god is that what readers life was like before?? :"((( spoilers and more comments under the cut.
Shouldve known there was something up with that Rumple</3
Man the way you illustrated readers memories flooding back up... triggered by the feelings that bubbled up seeing Hongjoongs smile :(( <3 she was in a coma omg... A being of magic preying on someone so vulnerable... wah.. everything really does come with a price.
Medical trauma is really close to my heart so i appreciate the way you handled this 🥺 wonderfully written as always<3
A door appears where it should not. And a girl steps through it.
In a kingdom that grows rich from gold, y/n is forced to turn straw into something more, while slowly losing her memories.
Years later, when the castle falls, she is found in a forgotten room.
Without a name.
Without a past.
And without knowing what she has lost.
Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Angst, Fairytale Retelling, Romance (slow burn)
Tropes: Rumpelstiltskin retelling, Memory loss / identity loss, Imprisoned heroine, Broken / empty FMC, Soft vs cruel world contrast, Found family, Slow healing romance
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Hongjoong Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |
This is Part 2
The wheels of the carriage moved steadily over the uneven road, their rhythm constant, almost soothing.
Almost.
Hongjoong sat opposite them, his posture straight out of habit rather than comfort, one arm resting loosely against the side of the carriage as his gaze lingered on the two figures across from him.
The boy had not let go of her hand since they left the castle.
Not once.
Even now, hours into the journey, his fingers remained wrapped tightly around hers, as though afraid that if he loosened his grip, she might disappear.
Hongjoong had seen loyalty before.
He had seen devotion.
He had seen people throw themselves into danger for someone they cared about.
But this was different.
The boy spoke without pause.
Stories, mostly.
Things that did not seem important, yet filled the space between them with something fragile and alive.
“And then you dropped it,” he was saying now, a small grin tugging at his lips as he leaned slightly closer to her. “You remember that? The bucket? You said it didn’t matter, but it did, because then we had to clean everything again and you got straw stuck in your hair.”
Hongjoong’s gaze shifted to her.
She was listening.
Her head tilted slightly, her eyes lowered toward the boy, her expression… softer.
There was something there now.
Faint.
But real.
And then, to his quiet surprise, she smiled.
It was small.
Barely there.
But it changed her completely.
For a moment, she did not look like the hollow figure he had found in that room.
For a moment, she looked like someone who had once belonged somewhere.
The boy brightened immediately at the sight, squeezing her hand slightly.
“See? You remember,” he said, almost triumphant.
She did not answer.
But the smile lingered just a little longer before fading again.
Still, it was enough.
Enough for Hongjoong to notice.
Enough for something in his chest to shift.
He leaned back slightly, his gaze moving to the passing scenery outside the carriage window.
The kingdom they had left behind was already fading into distance.
In its place stretched open land, quieter, less suffocating.
Behind them, one of his advisors remained to stabilize what was left of the fallen court.
That kingdom would take time to recover.
To cleanse itself of what it had become.
But that was no longer his immediate concern.
His attention returned to the carriage.
To her.
To the boy.
To the strange, fragile connection between them.
The boy kept talking.
His voice softened gradually, the steady rhythm of the carriage pulling at his exhaustion.
His sentences slowed.
Words began to blur together.
His head dipped slightly once.
Then again.
Until finally, without warning, his grip loosened just enough for his body to give in.
He leaned sideways.
Carefully.
Instinctively.
Until his head rested against her shoulder.
His breathing evened out.
Sleep took him quickly.
Hongjoong watched the moment in silence.
Waiting.
Expecting her to shift.
To pull away.
To react.
But she did not.
She adjusted slightly.
Barely noticeable.
Just enough to make sure he was comfortable.
Her hand remained in his.
Her gaze dropped to him for a brief moment.
Then lifted again.
Back to the window.
The carriage continued.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence was not uncomfortable.
Just… present.
Eventually, Hongjoong leaned forward slightly.
His voice quieter now.
Careful not to wake the boy.
“Is he your brother?”
Her gaze shifted.
Slowly.
Back to him.
She blinked once.
Then shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
The answer came easily.
Without hesitation.
But not without weight.
Hongjoong studied her for a moment.
“You don’t know?” he repeated gently.
She glanced down at the boy briefly.
Her fingers adjusted slightly around his.
“He was there,” she said.
A pause.
“When I was there.”
Her voice remained soft.
Even.
“I think… he always was.”
Hongjoong frowned slightly.
“That’s all you remember about him?”
She nodded once.
“He talked,” she added after a moment. “Like this.”
Something almost like warmth flickered faintly in her tone.
Barely noticeable.
“He stayed.”
The words settled quietly between them.
Hongjoong exhaled slowly.
Then asked, “And before that?”
Her gaze lifted again.
Met his.
There was that same emptiness.
That absence.
“I told you,” she said, almost gently. “I don’t remember.”
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
Of course.
Still, something in him pushed further.
Not out of curiosity alone.
Out of something else.
Something that wanted to understand.
“Where do you think you came from?” he asked.
Her expression shifted slightly.
Not into recognition.
Into something else.
A faint, sad curve of her lips.
A shadow of something that might have been humor once.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that I already told you I don’t remember.”
There was no bite to it.
No irritation.
Just a quiet truth.
Hongjoong let out a small breath.
“I know,” he said. “I just thought maybe…”
He trailed off.
She tilted her head slightly.
Then, after a moment, she spoke again.
“I remember something,” she said.
His attention sharpened immediately.
“What?”
She lifted her hand slightly.
The one not held by the boy.
Gold caught the light faintly at her fingertips.
“I can do this,” she said.
Her voice did not change.
It did not carry pride.
Or fear.
Just fact.
Hongjoong’s gaze fixed on her hand.
Then back to her face.
“You understand what it is?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I understand what it does,” she replied.
A pause.
“It turns things into gold.”
Her fingers curled slightly.
The gold shimmered faintly.
“And it takes things away.”
Hongjoong’s chest tightened.
“What do you mean?”
She looked at him.
And for the first time, there was something deeper in her eyes.
Not emotion.
Understanding.
“It takes me, my memories, everything I was,” she said.
The words landed quietly.
But they settled heavily.
Hongjoong said nothing.
She continued.
“I forget things,” she explained. “At first, it was small things.”
Her gaze drifted slightly, as though searching for something she knew she would not find.
“Then bigger things.”
Her voice remained steady.
“I forgot where I came from.”
A pause.
“I forgot my name.”
Another.
“I forget why he is with me.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the boy’s hand.
Not enough to wake him.
Just enough to ground herself.
“I forget what day it is.”
She looked back at Hongjoong.
“And I will forget this.”
The certainty in her voice made something in him twist.
“This?” he asked quietly.
She nodded.
“The king dying,” she said. “The castle. You.”
Her gaze held his.
“I will forget that I left.”
The words were simple.
Unadorned. Unemotional.
And that made them worse.
Hongjoong leaned forward slightly.
“You don’t know that,” he said.
“I do,” she replied.
No hesitation.
“I always forget.”
Silence filled the carriage again.
She studied him for a moment.
Then added, almost as an afterthought:
“You are a king.”
Hongjoong blinked slightly.
Caught off guard.
“Or a prince,” she corrected softly. “But you lead them.”
Her gaze flicked briefly toward the others riding alongside outside, barely visible through the window.
“I can tell.”
Hongjoong did not deny it.
“How?” he asked instead.
She shrugged slightly.
“I don’t remember things,” she said. “But I understand them.”
A pause.
Then, calmly: “Are you going to use me?”
The question came without warning.
Hongjoong stilled.
“What?”
“For my power,” she clarified.
Her gaze did not waver.
“Or my body.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because of how easily she said them.
Because of how little they seemed to affect her.
Like they were normal.
Like they were expected.
Hongjoong felt something sharp settle in his chest.
“I’m not going to do either of those things,” he said immediately.
She watched him.
Unmoved.
“You said that before,” she replied.
“I meant it.”
She tilted her head slightly.
Studying him.
“Why?” she asked.
The question was genuine.
Curious.
Not accusing.
Hongjoong hesitated for a moment.
Then answered honestly.
“Because you’re not something to be used.”
Her gaze lingered on him.
Longer this time.
As though weighing his words.
“You say that like it’s obvious,” she said.
“It is,” he replied.
She blinked.
Slowly.
Then shook her head.
“No,” she said softly. “It isn’t.”
The carriage shifted slightly over a rough patch of road.
The boy stirred faintly but did not wake.
Her hand remained steady.
Holding his.
Hongjoong leaned back slightly, exhaling quietly.
“I told you,” he said after a moment, his voice calmer now, but no less certain. “You’re free.”
She looked at him.
There was that faint confusion again.
“That word,” she said.
“Free,” he repeated.
She considered it.
Then asked, “What does that mean for me?”
Hongjoong paused.
The question was not simple.
Not for her.
“It means,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “that no one gets to decide what happens to you except you.”
She listened.
As though trying to understand something in a language she had almost forgotten.
“And if I don’t know what to decide?” she asked.
Her voice remained soft.
But there was something there.
Something uncertain.
Something that had not been there before.
Hongjoong held her gaze.
“Then we figure it out,” he said.
A pause.
“Together.”
The word settled between them.
Different from the others.
Warmer.
More fragile.
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, her gaze shifted away again.
Back to the window.
The landscape moved past them quietly.
For both of them, in different ways.
“I will forget this,” she said again.
Quieter this time.
Not as a warning.
As a fact.
Hongjoong’s grip tightened slightly against his own knee.
“Then I’ll remind you,” he said.
She did not respond.
But for the briefest moment, something flickered in her expression.
Not quite hope.
But something that had the shape of it.
And for now, that was enough.
The gates of Hongjoong’s kingdom opened before them without resistance.
The guards stationed at the entrance straightened immediately as the carriage approached, their armor catching the late afternoon light as they moved to clear the path.
Hongjoong barely noticed.
His gaze lingered on the reflection in the carriage window.
Not himself.
Her.
She sat where she had been since the boy had fallen asleep against her shoulder, her posture unchanged, her expression distant but not entirely empty anymore.
Something had shifted.
Not enough for most to notice.
Enough for him.
The boy stirred slightly as the carriage slowed, his grip tightening reflexively around her hand before his eyes opened.
Confusion flickered across his face for a brief moment.
Then recognition.
He sat up quickly.
“Are we there?”
His voice was quiet but alert, the remnants of sleep fading instantly as he glanced around.
Hongjoong pushed the carriage door open before answering.
“We are.”
The boy moved immediately, stepping out first before turning back toward her.
Careful.
Always careful.
“Come,” he said, his tone softer now, reaching out his hand again.
She followed without hesitation.
Not because she seemed eager.
Because she simply moved when guided.
Hongjoong watched as her feet touched the ground of a place that was meant to be safe.
A place that had never known what she had endured.
And for a moment, something inside him tightened.
Because he did not know if safety would mean anything to her.
The castle was different.
Not smaller.
Not less grand.
But it breathed differently.
Light moved freely through the halls, not trapped or dulled by excess. Stone replaced gold, cool and steady, untouched by the unnatural sheen that had consumed the other kingdom.
There were voices here too.
But they were not whispers.
Not sharp.
Not watching.
They were alive.
Hongjoong led them through the main hall without stopping, ignoring the curious glances that followed in their wake. News of their return had already begun to spread, and with it, the quiet murmur of speculation.
But he did not slow.
Not until they reached the eastern wing.
“This will be yours,” he said, stopping in front of a set of doors.
He pushed them open.
The room inside was large.
Warm.
Sunlight spilled through wide windows, softening the space, catching on light fabrics and polished wood. A bed stood near the center, untouched, prepared. A table by the window. Shelves that were not yet filled.
It was not lavish.
It was not overwhelming.
It was… calm.
Hongjoong stepped aside slightly.
“You can stay here.”
The boy stepped in first, his eyes moving quickly across the room as though assessing it for threats.
For anything that might harm her.
Old habits.
He nodded once, seemingly satisfied, before turning back to her.
“It’s good,” he said quietly.
She stepped inside.
Slowly.
Her gaze moved across the room.
Lingering.
Not in recognition.
Not in comfort.
Just… observing.
“This is yours,” Hongjoong repeated, softer this time.
She did not respond immediately.
She walked a few steps further in, stopping near the window.
The light caught her again.
Gold shimmered faintly at her fingertips.
A knock sounded lightly at the door.
Hongjoong turned.
A woman stepped in.
One of the palace maids.
“I will assign her to you,” he said, glancing back at y/n. “She will help you with anything you need.”
The maid bowed her head slightly, her expression respectful but not intrusive.
“I will take care of you,” she said gently.
Y/n looked at her.
Then nodded.
A small movement.
Nothing more.
Hongjoong hesitated.
Just for a moment.
Then said, “Rest.”
The word felt insufficient.
But it was all he had.
He turned to leave.
The boy remained.
Still close to her.
The doors closed behind him with a quiet sound.
The hallway outside felt different immediately.
He exhaled slowly.
Then turned.
The others were already waiting.
Of course they were.
They had given him space.
But not distance.
Seonghwa leaned against the wall, arms loosely crossed, his expression thoughtful.
San stood nearby, his gaze sharper, more guarded.
Wooyoung paced slightly, restless energy barely contained.
Yunho, Mingi, Jongho, and Yeosang stood together, quieter, but no less attentive.
“Well?” Wooyoung asked first.
Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair briefly.
“She’s settled.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Wooyoung replied immediately.
“I know.”
Silence followed.
Then San spoke.
“She’s dangerous.”
The words were blunt.
Direct.
Not unkind.
But not softened either.
Hongjoong did not argue.
“She could be,” he said.
Wooyoung stopped pacing.
“She turns things into gold, Hongjoong,” he said, his voice lowering slightly. “Not just things. Everything.”
A pause.
“That’s not normal.”
“No,” Hongjoong agreed. “It’s not.”
Mingi frowned slightly. “And she forgets because of it?”
“That’s what she said.”
Yunho shifted his weight slightly. “Do we know if that’s true?”
Hongjoong’s jaw tightened slightly.
“I believe her.”
San let out a quiet breath. “That doesn’t mean it’s safe.”
Seonghwa spoke then.
Soft.
Measured.
“She didn’t feel dangerous.”
The others glanced at him.
“She didn’t feel anything,” Jongho corrected.
And that was worse.
Hongjoong’s gaze lowered briefly.
Then lifted again.
“She asked if we were going to use her,” he said.
Wooyoung’s expression darkened. “Of course she did.”
San’s jaw tightened.
“She’s been treated like an object for years,” Yeosang said quietly. “Why would she expect anything different?”
“She won’t remember us anyway,” Mingi added, more thoughtful than harsh. “If what she says is true.”
Hongjoong’s hand clenched slightly.
“I will remind her.”
The words came out before he could stop them.
Firm.
Certain.
The others exchanged glances.
No one argued.
But no one fully agreed either.
Before the conversation could continue, Seonghwa’s gaze shifted.
He straightened slightly.
“Did you see that?”
San turned immediately. “See what?”
Seonghwa stepped forward slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the far end of the corridor.
“There,” he said quietly.
Movement.
Subtle.
But there.
Behind one of the pillars.
Hongjoong’s attention snapped to it.
“Come out,” he said.
Silence.
Then…A small figure shifted.
Reluctant.
Caught.
The boy stepped out slowly.
His posture tense.
His eyes wary.
Wooyoung let out a short breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
San crossed his arms. “How long have you been there?”
The boy said nothing.
But his silence was answer enough.
Seonghwa crouched slightly, his voice softer than the others.
“You were listening.”
Not a question.
The boy’s grip tightened slightly at his sides.
“Yes.”
Hongjoong studied him.
“You shouldn’t be sneaking around,” he said.
The boy lifted his chin slightly.
“I needed to know.”
There was no fear in his voice.
Only determination.
Hongjoong exhaled slowly.
Then asked, “What do you know about her?”
The boy hesitated.
Just for a moment.
Then spoke.
“Everything everyone else also knew.”
The word settled heavily.
San raised a brow slightly. “Everything?”
The boy nodded.
“They told stories about her.”
Hongjoong’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“What kind of stories?”
The boy’s expression shifted.
Not into fear.
Into something darker.
“They said she came from nowhere,” he began. “That she just… appeared.”
Hongjoong’s chest tightened slightly.
“They said it was a blessing at first,” the boy continued. “That the king had been chosen.”
A bitter edge slipped into his tone.
“But it didn’t take long for them to realize what she really was.”
Silence filled the space again.
“She wasn’t allowed to leave,” he said. “Not after the first week.”
Wooyoung stilled.
“No one was allowed to touch her,” the boy added. “Except him.”
Hongjoong’s jaw tightened.
“He called her his greatest treasure.”
A pause.
“His finest possession.”
The words lingered.
San looked away briefly.
Mingi’s hands clenched slightly.
Seonghwa’s expression hardened.
Hongjoong remained still.
“What about you?” he asked quietly.
The boy blinked.
“What about me?”
“How did you end up with her?”
The boy hesitated again.
Then answered.
“I worked in the stables.”
His voice softened slightly.
“I got sick.”
A pause.
“I couldn’t move fast enough.”
Hongjoong already knew where this was going.
The boy swallowed slightly.
“He saw me.”
Silence.
“He didn’t like that I was in his way.”
The words were quiet.
But they carried weight.
“He was going to whip me.”
Wooyoung’s expression darkened completely.
“And then?” Hongjoong asked.
The boy’s gaze shifted slightly.
Not away.
Just… distant.
“She stepped in front of me.”
The words came out slowly.
Carefully.
Like something fragile.
Hongjoong’s chest tightened.
“He told her to move,” the boy continued.
“She didn’t.”
A breath passed.
“And then…”
His fingers curled slightly.
“She took it instead.”
Silence fell.
Complete.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Hongjoong felt something sharp settle deep in his chest.
“She didn’t make a sound,” the boy said.
His voice dropped slightly.
“Not once.”
A long pause.
“After that,” he added quietly, “I went to her.”
Hongjoong looked at him.
“You stayed.”
The boy nodded.
“I talked,” he said. “Even when she didn’t answer.”
A faint, almost invisible shift in his expression.
“She started listening.”
The words settled.
Soft.
Important.
“She still listens,” Hongjoong said quietly.
The boy nodded again.
“I know.”
A silence followed.
Different this time.
Less sharp.
More… understanding.
Hongjoong studied him for a moment.
Then asked, “What’s your name?”
The boy hesitated.
Only briefly.
Then said: “Rumplestilskin.”
Wooyoung blinked. “What?”
The boy shrugged slightly.
“That’s what they called me.”
A pause.
“Everyone just says Rumple.”
Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on him.
Rumplestilskin.
The name felt strange.
Out of place.
But somehow fitting.
“And that’s what you want to be called?” Hongjoong asked.
The boy nodded.
“Yes.”
Hongjoong held his gaze for a moment longer.
Then inclined his head slightly.
“Alright, Rumple.”
The boy did not smile.
But something in his posture eased.
Just a little.
And for the first time since stepping into this kingdom, Hongjoong felt like they had found something real.
Not gold.
Not power.
Not something that could be used.
But something that had survived.
And refused to break.
The garden had become something she returned to without thinking.
At first, she had only been brought there.
The maid had suggested it gently, guiding her through the halls, explaining where the paths led, where she could sit, what belonged to her now. Back then, the space had felt too open, too quiet in a way that unsettled her. There had been nothing to do, nothing expected of her, and the absence of purpose had pressed against her chest in a way she did not know how to name.
Now, two months later, she found herself walking there on her own.
The path had become familiar beneath her feet. The turns no longer confused her. She knew which direction the sunlight would fall in the afternoon, knew which part of the grass stayed cool the longest, knew which tree offered the most shade when the day grew warm.
She had learned these things without realizing it.
The realization itself came slowly.
One morning she had woken up and known where she wanted to go.
That had been new.
Now she sat beneath the large tree near the edge of the garden, her back resting lightly against ist trunk, her bare feet half-hidden in the grass. The ground was cool, soft in a way that felt almost unreal compared to the stone she had known for so long. The fabric of her dress shifted with the breeze, brushing gently against her legs, catching in places and then falling loose again.
She did not think about it.
She simply sat.
Beside her, Rumple lay on his side, one arm folded beneath his head, the other moving constantly as he spoke. He had a way of talking that filled the space without overwhelming it, as though he had learned long ago how to speak without expecting an answer.
“…and then he said I should keep my wrist straight, but I was, I swear I was, it just looked wrong from where he stood,” he was saying, his brows pulling together slightly as he tried to demonstrate with his hand.
She watched him.
Listened.
Not the way she used to.
Before, his voice had been something steady, something she held onto because it was there, because it kept her from falling into silence completely. Now, she followed the meaning behind it. She understood the small frustrations in his tone, the quiet pride when he spoke about improving, the way his words quickened when he was excited.
“And did it work?” she asked.
He paused for a moment, glancing up at her as though he had not expected her to interrupt.
Then his expression shifted.
A small spark of satisfaction.
“Yes,” he said. “Not at first, but after a while. Mingi said it was better.”
“Mingi?” she repeated softly.
He nodded.
“The tall one,” he clarified. “He’s the easiest to train with.”
She smiled faintly at that.
“I believe that.”
Rumple shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbow now, more engaged in the conversation.
“They all teach differently,” he continued. “San is stricter. Jongho doesn’t say much, but when he does, you listen. Wooyoung just laughs at me half the time, but he still shows me things.”
He hesitated for a brief moment.
“And Hongjoong…”
His voice softened slightly when he said the name.
“He just watches.”
She tilted her head a little.
“And that helps?”
Rumple shrugged.
“It makes you want to do it right.”
The answer lingered between them for a moment.
She let it settle.
Then she asked, more quietly this time, “Do you like it here?”
He did not answer immediately.
Instead, he turned his gaze away from her, looking out across the garden, toward the distant outline of the training grounds where he had spent most of his time these past weeks.
“I think so,” he said after a while.
The words were careful.
Not uncertain.
Just… considered.
“They don’t shout,” he added. “Not like before.”
Something in her chest shifted at that.
Not sharply.
Just enough for her to notice.
“They don’t hurt you either,” she said.
He shook his head.
“No.”
A small pause followed.
Then she asked, “Do you think you could be happy here?”
The question felt different.
He must have noticed it too.
He looked at her again, more directly this time, studying her face as though trying to understand why she had asked it.
After a moment, he nodded.
“Yes,” he said.
The answer was quiet.
But it felt steady.
She smiled at him then.
Not because she had decided to.
Because something inside her responded to his answer.
There was a warmth that came with it, soft and unfamiliar in ist shape, settling somewhere deep in her chest.
And with it came something else.
A faint ache.
It lingered at the edges of her awareness, difficult to grasp, like a memory she could almost see but not quite reach.
She did not understand it.
But she did not pull away from it either.
Her hand moved almost on ist own, brushing lightly through his hair, pushing a few strands away from his face where they had fallen into his eyes.
The gesture was gentle.
Careful.
It felt… right.
Rumple froze slightly at the touch, his ears turning faintly red as he quickly looked away.
“You’re doing that again,” he muttered.
She blinked.
“Doing what?”
“Being… weird.”
There was no real annoyance in his voice.
Just embarrassment.
Her smile softened slightly.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not,” he replied, though his tone was quieter now.
He pushed himself up quickly, brushing grass from his clothes.
“My break is over,” he said, glancing back toward the direction he had come from.
She nodded.
“I know.”
He hesitated for just a moment, then added, “I’ll come back later.”
“I’ll be here,” she said.
He lingered for a second longer than necessary.
Then he turned and ran, his steps quick and light, disappearing between the trees and leaving the space quieter again.
She watched him go.
Her gaze followed him until he was completely out of sight.
The warmth in her chest remained.
So did the faint ache.
It pulsed once, softly, like something trying to be remembered.
She exhaled slowly.
Then, without shifting her gaze from where he had disappeared, she spoke.
“You don’t have to hide.”
There was no tension in her voice.
No surprise.
She had noticed them earlier.
Not immediately.
But after a while.
A movement where there should have been none.
A presence that did not belong to the garden itself.
The bushes rustled slightly.
Then Mingi stepped out first, looking a little caught, though not entirely embarrassed.
Hongjoong followed a step behind him, his expression more composed, though his eyes had already settled on her.
“We weren’t trying to spy,” Mingi said, rubbing the back of his neck.
She finally turned to look at them.
“I know,” she said.
And she did.
They had not felt like a threat.
Just… there.
Hongjoong stepped a little closer, stopping at a respectful distance.
“How are you?” he asked.
The question was familiar now.
He asked it often.
But not in a way that felt repetitive.
He always seemed to be waiting for a different answer.
She considered it.
Not quickly.
Not automatically.
She had learned that answers could change.
That how she felt now was not always how she had felt before.
“I am better,” she said.
The words came slowly, carefully chosen.
“I remember things now.”
His expression shifted slightly at that.
“What kind of things?”
She looked down at her hands.
Her fingers were still touched by gold, though less than before. It no longer spread. It no longer moved unless she willed it to.
“Small things at first,” she said. “Names. Places inside the castle. The way the days passed.”
She lifted her gaze again.
“I remember him.”
A slight nod in the direction Rumple had gone.
Hongjoong followed the motion, then looked back at her.
“That’s good.”
She nodded.
“It is.”
There was a pause.
She hesitated, just for a moment, before continuing.
“But there are still parts missing.”
Her voice softened slightly.
“I know there was more.”
She did not know how to explain it properly.
It was not like forgetting something recently.
It was like knowing a room existed without being able to open the door to it.
“I feel it,” she added quietly. “But I cannot see it.”
Hongjoong watched her closely.
“You’re not losing more?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
The certainty in that answer came more easily.
“It stopped when I stopped using it.”
Her fingers moved slightly at her side.
The gold did not follow.
“I think it only takes when I give.”
He seemed to consider that.
Then he nodded once.
“That means you can heal.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“I do not know if that is the right word,” she said.
“But I am… less empty.”
The admission felt strange.
Not because it was difficult.
Because it was new.
Hongjoong stepped a little closer then, extending his hand toward her.
“Come,” he said. “You’ve been sitting here a while.”
She looked at his hand.
At the space between them.
Then she placed hers in his.
He helped her to her feet, steady and careful, as though aware of how easily she might lose balance.
For a moment, neither of them let go.
There was no reason to hold on.
But neither of them seemed to notice.
His thumb moved slightly.
At first, she thought it was accidental.
Then it happened again.
A slow, absent motion across her palm.
Tracing.
Not letters.
Not shapes she could name.
Just movement.
Gentle.
Unthinking.
Something inside her stilled.
The garden seemed to quiet around her.
The wind softened.
The sounds of distant voices faded.
All her attention narrowed to that small point of contact.
His hand.
Her hand.
The movement between them.
And then something shifted.
Not outside.
Inside.
A sensation bloomed in her chest, sudden and overwhelming, like warmth spreading too quickly through something that had been cold for too long.
Her breath caught.
Her fingers tightened slightly around his.
The movement of his thumb continued.
Unaware.
And the memory came.
Not all at once.
Not violently.
It unfolded.
Slowly.
A hand.
Different.
Warmer in a way that felt familiar in a way she could not explain.
Tracing the same patterns into her palm.
A voice.
Soft.
Close.
“What is that supposed to be?”
Her own voice answered.
Light.
Unburdened.
“I don’t know.”
A quiet laugh.
“Maybe if I keep going, it’ll turn into something.”
A smile.
Gentle.
Steady.
“It already is something.”
The feeling followed.
Not just warmth.
More.
Full.
So full it felt like it might overflow.
Something that filled her chest completely.
That made everything else feel smaller.
Safer.
Her breath hitched.
The memory deepened.
Light through a window.
A room she knew.
A place that belonged to her.
A phone in her hand.
A message.
Good morning, sleepy.
Her heart began to race.
The garden blurred at the edges.
Her grip on Hongjoong tightened further, enough for him to notice now.
He stilled.
“What is it—”
She did not hear the rest.
The door appeared in her mind.
Blue.
Standing where it should not have been.
The handle.
Gold.
Warm beneath her fingers.
The air.
Sweet.
Smoke.
Stories.
“Threads of straw to gold be spun…”
The rhyme echoed through her again, louder this time, clearer.
Her head throbbed.
Pain spread behind her eyes, sharp and sudden, forcing a small, broken sound from her lips.
The memory accelerated.
The light.
The fall.
The throne room.
The gold.
The king.
Everything collided, overlapping, pressing against each other until it became too much to hold.
Her knees gave slightly.
The world tilted.
Her vision fractured.
And then everything went dark.
Hongjoong reacted before the thought even formed.
He felt the shift in her grip first, the sudden tightening of her fingers around his, the way her body seemed to lose ist balance as if something inside her had been pulled away all at once.
“Hey—”
His voice came out sharper than intended as he caught her.
Her weight fell into him without resistance, her body going completely limp in his arms. For a brief, terrifying second, it felt like there was nothing holding her upright anymore.
He steadied her quickly, one arm wrapping around her back, the other still holding her hand as if letting go would make it worse.
“Hey, look at me,” he said, more urgently now, lowering her slightly so he could see her face.
Her eyes were closed.
Too still.
Her head tilted against his shoulder, unresponsive.
Something in his chest tightened hard.
“Hey,” he tried again, softer but no less strained. “Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
Mingi was already moving.
“What happened?” he asked, stepping closer, his usual calm replaced by something far more alert.
Hongjoong shook his head quickly, adjusting his grip on her.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice tense. “She was fine, and then—”
He stopped.
Because that wasn’t true.
Something had changed.
He looked down at her again, his thumb pressing lightly against her wrist, searching for something grounding, something steady.
“She remembered something,” he said, quieter now but no less urgent. “Something triggered it.”
Mingi crouched beside them, his brows drawn together.
“Is she breathing?”
Hongjoong froze for half a second before leaning closer, his hand shifting instinctively to her shoulder.
“Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, she is.”
But it didn’t ease the tension.
Her breathing was shallow.
Too quiet.
“Hey,” he said again, his voice lower now, more controlled but still carrying urgency. “Stay with me.”
No response.
Mingi exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
“We need to get her inside,” he said. “Now.”
Hongjoong nodded immediately.
“Yeah.”
He shifted his hold on her, one arm moving beneath her knees as he lifted her fully without hesitation. The movement was quick, practiced, but there was nothing calm about it now.
Her head fell slightly against his shoulder again.
Still no reaction.
His jaw tightened.
“Go ahead,” he told Mingi. “Make sure the way is clear.”
Mingi was already moving.
Hongjoong followed immediately, his pace faster than before, all restraint gone as he carried her back toward the castle.
He did not look down again.
He didn’t trust what he would see if he did.
“She remembered something.”
The thought repeated itself.
Over and over.
And for the first time since bringing her here, hope did not feel gentle.
It felt dangerous.
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Hongjoong Masterlist
OHHH im so happy reader is responding now with more intention awww... Rumples backstory with her is heartwarming ough.... Hongjoongs hand and gentle touch being what brings a flash of her previous life back??? Holy shit i hope shes okay</3 what does this mean for future memory triggers</33
A door appears where it should not. And a girl steps through it.
In a kingdom that grows rich from gold, y/n is forced to turn straw into something more, while slowly losing her memories.
Years later, when the castle falls, she is found in a forgotten room.
Without a name.
Without a past.
And without knowing what she has lost.
Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Angst, Fairytale Retelling, Romance (slow burn)
Tropes: Rumpelstiltskin retelling, Memory loss / identity loss, Imprisoned heroine, Broken / empty FMC, Soft vs cruel world contrast, Found family, Slow healing romance
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Hongjoong Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |
This is Part 1
There was a kind of happiness that did not announce itself in her life.
It did not arrive loudly, did not demand attention or leave anyone breathless. It lived in the small things of her life. In routines that felt familiar rather than dull. In laughter that came easily, without effort or expectation.
That was the kind of happiness she had.
It settled into her life quietly and stayed.
Mornings began with light slipping through the curtains in soft, golden lines that warmed the edge of her bed. She rarely woke up immediately. Instead, she lingered in that half-state between sleep and awareness, listening.
To the faint hum of the city waking. To the distant roll of traffic. To the quiet buzz of her phone vibrating against the nightstand.
She would reach for it without opening her eyes, thumb brushing across the screen until it lit up.
A message.
Good morning, sleepy.
Sometimes followed by something softer. Something teasing. Something that made her smile before she was even fully awake.
She would press the phone closer to her face, squinting slightly. Then type back something equally simple. Nothing poetic. Nothing grand. Just something that meant she was there. That she was seen. That she was loved in the quiet ways that mattered most.
Her apartment was small, but it held her life.
There were plants on the windowsill that she sometimes forgot to water, though they somehow survived her inconsistency. A blanket draped over the couch that carried the faint scent of laundry detergent and evenings spent curled up with a movie she had already seen twice. A shelf filled with books she kept meaning to reread, though she rarely found the time.
It was not perfect.
But it was hers.
She moved through it with ease.
Mornings blurred into workdays that were steady, predictable. Her job was not something she dreamed about, but it was something she was good at. Numbers, structures, small problems that had clear solutions if you looked long enough.
She liked that. She liked knowing there was an answer somewhere.
Even if it took time.
Her coworkers were kind in the way people often were when life had not asked too much of them. There were shared lunches, quiet jokes, the occasional complaint about deadlines that never truly overwhelmed them.
She was not alone. She had never been alone.
And in the evenings, the world softened again.
Sometimes she met friends. Sometimes she stayed in. Sometimes she sat across from someone who knew her so well that silence felt like conversation.
He had a habit of tracing shapes into her palm.
Absentminded. Gentle.
“What is that supposed to be?” she had asked once, watching him with quiet amusement.
“I don’t know,” he had admitted, smiling slightly. “Maybe if I keep going, it’ll turn into something.”
“It already is something.”
He had looked at her then.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess it is.”
It was not a grand love story.
It did not need to be.
It was steady.
And she was happy.
Truly.
That evening, she stayed late again.
Not because she had to.
Because she wanted to.
The office felt different when everyone else had left. The air seemed less crowded, the silence more forgiving. No conversations overlapping, no footsteps passing by her desk, no expectations pressing in from all sides.
Just her.
And the soft glow of her screen.
She leaned back in her chair at some point, rubbing her eyes as the numbers began to blur together. The clock in the corner of her screen told her it was later than she expected.
“Okay,” she murmured to herself. “Time to go.”
Her voice sounded small in the empty space.
She gathered her things slowly, taking her time as she shut everything down. There was no rush waiting for her outside. No urgency.
Just the quiet promise of home.
When she stepped outside, the air greeted her.
Cool and fresh.
The rain had already passed, but it left ist mark behind. The pavement shimmered, catching the glow of streetlights and stretching it into long, trembling reflections.
For a moment, she simply stood there.
Breathing.
Letting the city settle around her again.
Cars moved steadily along the street. A bus passed, ist windows glowing warmly. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed. The sound carried, soft and fleeting.
She adjusted her coat, pulling it tighter around herself as she started walking.
Her thoughts were simple.
A warm drink. A shower.
Maybe a call. Maybe nothing at all.
She did not need much. She never had.
She almost missed it.
It stood where it should not have been.
In the middle of the sidewalk.
A door.
Painted the deep blue of twilight just before the first star wakes.
She slowed, faltered and then stopped entirely.
Her brows drew together slightly. “That’s new,” she murmured.
No walls framed it.
No building stood behind it.
It simply rose from the pavement as though it had always belonged there.
People walked past it.
Unbothered. Unseeing.
She glanced at them, confusion flickering across her face.
A man passed right beside it without so much as a glance.
A woman stepped around it absentmindedly, her attention fixed on her phone.
It was as if the door did not exist.
Except to her.
A strange feeling settled in her chest.
Something that felt like being called without hearing a voice.
She stepped closer.
As though approaching something that might disappear if she moved too quickly.
The handle gleamed.
Gold. Not dull or worn, but bright. Almost too bright for the dim light of the street.
She tilted her head slightly, studying it.
Her reflection stared back at her.
Soft. Distorted. Uncertain.
“This is weird,” she whispered, though there was no one there to answer.
The air shifted.
It carried something faint.
Spun sugar.
And something else beneath it.
Smoke maybe.
Her breath caught.
For a moment, she hesitated.
She thought of home.
Of warmth. Of the life waiting just a few streets away.
She could leave. She should leave.
But her hand lifted anyway.
Paused.
Hovered over the handle.
“Just a look,” she said quietly, as though she needed to justify it. “That’s all.”
Her fingers closed around the gold.
Warm. Warmer than it should have been.
The world seemed to hold ist breath.
A soft sound followed.
A sigh.
The lock gave way.
Her heart stuttered. And before she could think, before she could question, before she could turn back, the door opened.
Not outward.
Inward.
As though it was breathing.
Light spilled through the gap.
Endless.
It curled around her wrists like ribbon, soft and unyielding at once.
The ground beneath her feet felt distant. Unstable.
And then the rhyme came.
Not from the door.
From everywhere.
“Threads of straw to gold be spun,
But every gift is dearly won.
Name the price and name it true,
Lest fate lay heavier claims on you.”
Her breath caught. “What…?”
The word never finished.
The world tilted.
The street vanished.
Time loosened ist careful stitching.
She fell.
Light wrapped around her.
Pulled her.
Consumed her.
And then she hit the ground.
Hard.
Air rushed from her lungs in a sharp, broken sound as pain bloomed through her body. For a moment, she could not move. Could not think. Could not understand what had just happened.
The air was wrong.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Too warm. Too thick.
Carrying scents she did not recognize.
Wax. Fire. Metal.
Voices.
So many voices.
They echoed above her, layered and loud, filled with confusion, curiosity, something sharper.
She forced herself to breathe.
In.
Out.
Her fingers pressed against the ground. Tryint to focus on anything physical.
Slowly, she pushed herself up.
Her head spun.
Her vision blurred for a moment before it steadied.
And then she looked up.
The world was no longer hers.
A vast hall stretched before her, ceilings impossibly high, banners hanging like silent flames along the walls. Candlelight flickered from above, casting everything in gold and shadow.
People stood everywhere.
Watching.
Rows of them.
Dressed in fabrics that shimmered, heavy and rich, colors deep and unfamiliar.
Almost like Nobles from another timeline.
The thought came uninvited.
A murmur spread through the hall.
“Where did she come from?”
“Did you see that?”
“She appeared out of nothing.”
“Magic…”
Her heart began to race.
“I…” she started, her voice trembling. “I think I’m in the wrong place.”
No one answered.
No one moved to help her.
They only stared.
Her chest tightened.
She turned slightly, searching for something familiar.
Anything.
“There was a door,” she said, a little louder now. “I was just outside, I was walking home and then I saw it and I…”
Her words faltered. No one was listening.
At the far end of the hall, elevated above the rest, a throne stood.
And upon it sat a man. A crown on his head.
His gaze was fixed on her.
The king maybe.
Realization hit her slowly.
Then all at once.
This wasn’t a set.
This wasn’t a dream.
This wasn’t anything she understood.
“I don’t… I don’t belong here,” she said, softer now, her voice breaking slightly. “I just want to go home.”
The hall remained silent.
The king leaned forward.
And for the first time, she felt it.
Something cold.
Something that made her stomach drop.
Interest.
Her fingers curled slightly against the stone.
Her breath came uneven.
“I think there’s been a mistake,” she tried again.
But the words felt small.
Lost.
Swallowed by the space around her.
By the people watching.
By the world that was no longer hers.
And suddenly, the life she had left behind felt very far away.
For a moment, no one moved.
The hall remained suspended in something fragile, like the breath before a storm breaks. The nobles whispered among themselves, their voices low but restless, curiosity flickering into something sharper with every passing second.
She stayed where she had landed.
On the cold stone floor.
Her hands pressed against it, trembling slightly, as though she could steady herself if she just held on tightly enough.
This is not real.
The thought came quickly.
Desperately.
It has to be a dream.
But the air did not feel like a dream.
It was too thick in her lungs. Too warm against her skin. Too real in the way it carried scent and sound and weight.
Her heart was racing.
Too fast.
Too loud.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry as she forced herself to sit up properly. The movement felt distant, like her body belonged to someone else and she was only watching it happen.
“I… I think there’s been a mistake,” she said again, her voice quieter this time.
It echoed.
But her voice still Too small.
No one answered.
Her gaze darted from face to face, searching for something familiar. Something kind. Someone who might step forward and tell her this was confusion, a misunderstanding, something that could be fixed with the right explanation.
But all she found were eyes.
Watching.
Measuring.
Some curious.
Some amused.
Some already calculating.
Her chest tightened.
She pulled her hands closer to herself without thinking, fingers curling slightly as though she could hide them from the attention.
That was when she felt it.
Her breath hitched.
Slowly, she looked down.
At first, she did not understand what she was seeing.
Light clung to her skin.
It moved.
It gathered at the tips of her fingers, thickening, deepening in color until it became something heavier.
Gold.
It slid over her skin like molten sunlight, slow and deliberate, dripping from her fingertips in soft, heavy drops that fell to the stone below.
Each drop landed with a quiet sound.
Solid.
Real.
Her vision blurred. “No…”
The word left her before she could stop it.
Her hands shook.
More gold.
It kept coming.
“I didn’t… I didn’t do this,” she said, panic rising quickly now, her voice trembling as she tried to wipe it away.
But it did not smear.
It did not disappear.
It only continued.
“Please,” she whispered, though she did not know who she was speaking to. “Please make it stop.”
A ripple moved through the hall.
The whispers grew louder.
More urgent.
“Gold…”
“She’s making gold…”
“Is this some kind of blessing?”
“A curse…”
Her ears rang. Her breath came too fast now, too shallow.
She pressed her hands against her dress as though she could hide what was happening, but the gold only spread, streaking against the fabric, catching the candlelight in a way that made everything feel unreal.
She lifted her gaze.
The king had risen from his throne.
He was looking at her.
With hunger.
Her stomach dropped.
“No,” she whispered again, the word breaking this time. “No, no, no…”
“Bring her here,” the king said.
His voice was calm.
Controlled.
Certain.
The command cut through the noise of the hall instantly.
The whispers died.
The movement that followed was immediate.
Guards stepped forward.
She flinched instinctively.
“Wait,” she said quickly, scrambling back slightly on the floor. “Please, I didn’t do anything, I don’t even know what’s happening, I just got here, I…”
Hands grabbed her arms.
Rough.
She gasped as they pulled her up.
“Let go,” she cried, her voice breaking fully now as panic surged through her chest. “You’re hurting me, please, I don’t understand, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
They did not listen.
They dragged her forward.
Her feet stumbled against the stone, barely keeping up as they pulled her through the hall. The gold continued to drip from her hands, leaving a trail behind her, each step marking her presence in something she could not escape.
“I just want to go home,” she pleaded, her voice smaller now, shaking with something deeper than fear.
Desperation.
No one answered.
No one stopped them.
She was brought before the king.
Forced down.
Her knees hit the stone hard enough to send pain through her legs, but she barely felt it.
Her attention was fixed on him.
On the way he looked at her.
Like she was no longer a person.
Like she was something else entirely.
She shook her head quickly, tears already gathering in her eyes.
“Please,” she said, her voice soft, breaking. “I don’t belong here. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know why this is happening.”
The gold slipped from her fingers again.
The king stepped closer.
Then he crouched in front of her.
Close enough that she could see the detail in his expression.
The interest. The calculation. The satisfaction.
He reached out.
She flinched again. But his hand did not strike.
It settled against her face.
Holding her still.
Her breath hitched.
“You don’t know what you are,” he said quietly.
It was not a question.
Her lips trembled. “I don’t,” she whispered. “I swear, I don’t. I was just… I was just walking home, and there was a door, and I…”
Her voice faltered under his gaze.
He studied her.
Not unkindly. But not kindly either.
As one might study something rare.
Something valuable.
Something that belonged to them the moment they laid claim to it.
“How fortunate,” he murmured.
Her chest tightened.
“What?” she breathed.
His grip on her face tightened slightly.
Not enough to hurt but enough to control.
“You will not be wasted,” he said.
Her stomach dropped.
“I don’t understand…”
“You will,” he replied calmly. “In time.”
Fear flooded her.
“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head as much as his hold allowed. “No, please, I don’t want this, I don’t want whatever this is, I just want to go home, I won’t tell anyone, I swear, I’ll just leave, please just let me go.”
He smiled softly.
And that was worse.
“You misunderstand,” he said.
His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek, almost gentle.
“You are home now.”
Something inside her cracked.
“No,” she whispered, tears slipping free. “No, I’m not.”
His gaze shifted briefly to her hands.
To the gold.
Then back to her.
“You will be my greatest fortune,” he said quietly. “My own gold manufacture.”
Her breath stopped.
The words did not make sense at first.
Then they did.
And when they did, something deep and instinctive recoiled.
“No,” she said again, louder now, panic breaking through completely. “No, I can’t, I don’t know how to control it, I don’t even know what it is, please, you can’t do this, please don’t do this.”
He stood.
The warmth of his hand left her face.
It felt like something had been taken with it.
“Take her,” he said.
The guards moved immediately.
She struggled.
Not enough to break free.
Enough to show she was still there.
“Please,” she cried, her voice raw now. “Please don’t lock me away, I’ll do anything else, I’ll work, I’ll help, I’ll…”
Her words broke into sobs.
No one answered.
No one listened.
She was dragged away.
And the gold followed.
The chamber was not meant for living.
That was the first thing she understood.
It was too large. Too empty.
The walls were bare stone, cold and unwelcoming, the single window set high enough that she could not reach it, ist light thin and distant.
Straw filled the room.
Piled in corners.
Stacked against the walls. Endless.
The door closed behind her with a heavy sound that echoed through the space.
The lock followed.
She stood in the center of it.
Breathing too fast.
Her chest rising and falling unevenly.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered to herself.
Her voice sounded small.
She turned slowly, taking in the room again as though seeing it might make it make sense.
Held her hands tightly against herself as though she could trap the gold inside her skin.
“I won’t do it,” she whispered. “I won’t.”
But they came.
Every time.
Guards.
And when the room did not change, when the straw remained straw, they reminded her.
Not with words.
With force.
With consequences she learned quickly.
So she did it.
The first time, she cried the entire way through it.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the straw, fear twisting tightly in her chest as the gold formed again, unstoppable.
“I don’t want this,” she whispered again and again, like a prayer that went unanswered.
But the straw turned to gold.
Every piece. Every strand.
Until the room shimmered with something she could not escape.
Gold. Everywhere.
Days blurred.
Then weeks.
Time lost ist edges.
There was no morning.
No night.
Only light and dark that meant nothing.
She tried to hold onto things.
Small things.
Memories.
Her apartment. The windows and the way the light fell across her bed.
The sound of laughter. The feeling of someone’s hand tracing shapes into her palm.
She held onto that one the longest. She did not remember his face clearly after a while. But she remembered the feeling.
“What was his name?” she whispered once, sitting on the floor, her hands resting uselessly in her lap.
The gold glimmered faintly.
“I knew it,” she said softly. “I know I did.”
But the name did not come back.
It slipped. Just out of reach.
Like something she had forgotten in another room.
She tried to follow it.
To grasp it.
But it was gone.
The more she used the gold, the more she lost.
At first, it was small.
A detail. A color. A taste.
Then it grew.
A memory. A moment. A feeling.
She noticed at the beginning.
She cried over each one. “I don’t remember,” she whispered once, her voice hollow. “I don’t remember what my home looked like.”
The realization had come suddenly.
Without warning.
One moment, it was there.
The next, it was not.
Gone.
As though it had never existed.
Her chest had ached with it.
A deep, hollow ache that she could not fill.
“I don’t remember,” she repeated.
No one answered. No one ever did.
Months passed.
Or years.
She stopped trying to count.
It did not matter. Nothing mattered.
The room did not change.
The straw did not change.
She did.
Piece by piece.
Her movements became slower.
Her reactions duller.
Her voice softer.
Less used. Less needed.
She spoke less. Thought less. Felt less.
It was easier that way.
Easier than holding onto things that would only disappear.
Easier than remembering what she had already lost.
One day, she tried to say her name.
The thought came suddenly.
She sat up slightly, her hands still, her gaze unfocused as she searched for it.
“My name is…” she began.
The words lingered.
Her breath hitched.
“I…”
Nothing.
There was nothing there.
Her chest tightened.
“My name is…” she tried again, more urgently this time.
Still nothing.
Her hands trembled.
Gold slipped from her fingers again.
She did not react.
“My name is…” she whispered.
The words faded. Meaningless.
She lowered her head slowly.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
As though the loss had already settled.
As though it had been gone longer than she could remember.
Time continued.
She stopped asking questions.
Stopped pleading.
Stopped hoping.
There was nothing left to hope for.
Nothing left to return to.
The memories had faded. All of them.
Herself replaced by something emptier.
She still moved. Still worked. Still turned straw into gold.
But there was no resistance in it anymore.
Only repetition.
Only silence.
Sometimes, she would sit still for long periods of time.
Just existing.
Her hands resting in her lap.
Gold faintly clinging to her skin like something that had always been there.
Like something that would never leave.
She did not remember when it started.
She did not remember when it became all she was.
She only knew that there had been something before.
Something that felt like light.
But it was gone now.
And in ist place…there was nothing.
And somewhere deep inside her, in a place she could no longer reach, something small and quiet still whispered.
You had a name.
But she did not remember it.
Not anymore.
The war had ended faster than expected.
That was what unsettled Hongjoong the most.
He had prepared for resistance. For drawn-out battles. For a kingdom that would fight desperately to protect the wealth it had gathered so unnaturally over the years.
Instead, it had collapsed.
Too quickly.
The outer defenses had been strong enough to suggest pride, but not strong enough to hold. The soldiers had fought, but not with conviction. There had been hesitation in their movements, fractures in their formation, something hollow beneath the discipline they tried to maintain.
And when Hongjoong had reached the throne room, when he had stood face to face with the king who had demanded war against his people, it had taken only a single strike to end him.
The man had not even looked surprised.
Only angry.
As though the world had failed to obey him.
Hongjoong had expected relief when it was over.
Instead, there was something else.
A quiet unease that had settled deep in his chest and refused to leave.
Now, hours later, he walked through the castle that had once belonged to that man.
Or rather, what remained of it.
“This is absurd,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, running his fingers along a pillar as they moved through the corridor. “Look at this.”
Hongjoong did not need to look.
He had already seen.
The castle gleamed.
Not with polished stone or carefully maintained marble, but with something heavier. Warmer. Wrong in a way that made the air feel thick.
Gold.
Everywhere.
Columns that should have been carved from stone now shimmered faintly. Decorative trims caught the light unnaturally. Even the doors held a sheen that did not belong to wood.
It was too much.
Not elegance.
It was Excess.
“Who builds like this?” San asked, his voice low as he glanced around, his hand resting near the hilt of his weapon out of habit.
“No one sane,” Yunho answered quietly.
Mingi let out a short breath, shaking his head slightly. “This isn’t just wealth. This is obsession.”
Hongjoong said nothing.
He walked ahead of them, his steps measured, his gaze moving slowly across everything they passed.
He had seen rich courts before.
Lavish halls.
Kings who decorated their power in gold to remind others of their place.
But this was different.
This was not decoration.
It was saturation.
As though the castle itself had been consumed.
“Five years,” Jongho said, his voice cutting cleanly through the quiet. “That’s what we were told, right?”
Hongjoong nodded slightly.
“Their rise in wealth started about five years ago,” Yeosang added, his tone thoughtful. “Before that, they were… average. Stable, but nothing remarkable.”
“And then suddenly they could fund a war,” Seonghwa said.
“Not just fund it,” Wooyoung corrected, glancing over his shoulder. “Push for it.”
A silence followed.
Unspoken thoughts settling between them.
Hongjoong slowed slightly.
His gaze lingered on the walls again.
At the gold everywhere.
“Something isn’t right,” he said finally.
San gave a small, humorless smile. “That’s putting it lightly.”
They continued.
Deeper into the castle.
Past the grand halls that had already been cleared. Past the rooms that had been looted by fear long before they had arrived. Past the chambers where servants had hidden and nobles had tried to bargain for safety.
The further they went, the quieter it became.
The air changed.
As though this part of the castle had been left behind long before the war had reached ist end.
“Has anyone checked this side?” Mingi asked.
Hongjoong shook his head slightly. “Not yet.”
“Strange,” Yunho murmured. “You’d think something this large wouldn’t just… stop being used.”
They turned into a narrower corridor.
The gold was less prominent here.
Faded.
Uneven.
The walls returned to stone in patches, though streaks of gold still clung to them in places, like something that had once spread and then been abandoned halfway through.
The torches along the walls burned lower. Dimmer.
The silence deepened.
Wooyoung frowned slightly. “I don’t like this.”
“No one asked you to,” San muttered, though his tone lacked ist usual bite.
Hongjoong slowed.
There was something ahead.
A shift.
Not sound.
Not movement.
Something else.
He raised a hand slightly.
The others stopped.
“What is it?” Seonghwa asked quietly.
Hongjoong did not answer immediately.
He stepped forward.
Carefully.
Then he saw it.
A door.
Reinforced.
Heavy.
Out of place.
Two bodies lay in front of it.
Soldiers, long dead.
Their armor marked them as part of the former king’s guard.
Jongho crouched beside one of them, examining quickly. “They’ve been dead for a while.”
“How long?” Hongjoong asked.
“A few days. Maybe longer.”
San’s gaze moved to the door. “So they weren’t killed in the battle.”
“No,” Yeosang said softly. “They were guarding something.”
Silence settled again.
Thicker now.
Hongjoong stepped closer.
The door was locked.
But not recently.
The metal showed signs of wear, of repeated use, of something that had been opened and closed too many times.
He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against the surface.
“Break it,” he said.
Mingi and Yunho stepped forward immediately.
It did not take long.
The lock gave way with a sharp crack, the door shifting under the force before slowly creaking open.
The sound echoed.
As though it disturbed something that had long been left undisturbed.
The air inside the room was different.
Still. Heavy.
Hongjoong stepped in first and stopped.
For a moment, the others behind him fell silent as well.
The room was large.
Almost simple in comparison to the rest of the castle. Almost Bare.
A single window at the far end allowed light to slip in, pale and distant.
And in front of it…She sat.
On a chair.
Her back slightly turned, her gaze fixed on something beyond the window.
Her dress caught the light first.
Gold and Sheer. Outlining her small body perfectly.
It draped over her frame like something delicate, almost unreal, clinging softly to her form as though it had been made to reflect the very thing that filled this place.
For a moment, Hongjoong did not think.
He simply looked.
She was…Beautiful.
That was the first thought.
The kind of beauty that lingered.
But it was not what held him there.
It was the stillness.
The way she sat.
The way the light touched her and did not seem to reach her.
The way the room felt empty despite her presence.
Lonely.
That was the second thought.
And far more unsettling.
Behind him, someone exhaled quietly.
“There’s… someone here?” Wooyoung said, disbelief threading through his voice.
“Who is she?” Yunho asked.
No one answered.
Hongjoong stepped closer.
Carefully.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was gentle.
Measured.
It felt strange in the silence of the room.
She did not react immediately.
For a moment, he thought she had not heard him.
Then, slowly… She turned her head.
Her gaze found them.
And something in Hongjoong’s chest tightened.
Her eyes were empty.
Not dull. Not tired.
Completely Empty.
Like a place where something had once lived and no longer did.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
The question felt inadequate the moment it left him.
She blinked once.
As though processing the words took effort.
Then she spoke.
Her voice was soft. Almost fragile.
“Are you here to end it?”
The room went still.
Hongjoong frowned slightly. “End what?”
Her gaze did not change.
“Me,” she said simply.
A silence followed.
Uncomfortable.
“If you are,” she continued, her tone unchanged, “then please do it quickly.”
Something shifted in Hongjoong’s chest.
A sharp, unexpected pull.
Shock.
Not at the words.
At how easily she said them.
Like they meant nothing.
Like they were no more than a simple request.
He stepped closer immediately, lowering himself slightly so he was closer to her level.
“No,” he said. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
She watched him.
Without reaction.
“You’re safe,” he added, softer now.
The word felt foreign in the room.
Safe.
She tilted her head slightly.
As though the concept did not make sense.
He swallowed.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Her gaze shifted.
Searching.
For something.
Seconds passed.
Then longer.
Finally, she spoke again. “I don’t remember.”
The words were quiet.
But they landed heavily.
Hongjoong’s brows drew together slightly.
“You don’t remember your name?”
She shook her head.
A small movement.
“I don’t remember anything,” she said.
There was no frustration in her voice.
No sadness.
Only a simple statement.
Like she was telling him the sky was gray.
Wooyoung let out a quiet, disbelieving breath behind him.
“What do you mean you don’t remember anything?” he asked.
She did not look at him.
Her gaze stayed on Hongjoong.
As though he was the only one who had spoken.
“I know words,” she said slowly. “I know how to speak. I know what things are.”
A pause.
“But I don’t know me.”
The words settled heavily into the room.
Hongjoong felt it again.
That pull.
Stronger now.
He crouched fully in front of her.
“You must remember something,” he said gently. “Anything. Where you’re from. How you got here.”
Her expression did not change.
“They called me things,” she said instead.
His chest tightened slightly.
“Who?”
“The soldiers,” she replied.
Her gaze drifted for a moment.
Not quite distant.
Just unfocused.
“As if I needed a name.”
Something cold settled in his stomach.
“What did they call you?” he asked quietly.
She blinked once.
Then answered.
“Golden whore.”
The words landed flat.
Emotionless.
“Slave.”
A breath passed.
“Gold spinner.”
Behind him, someone shifted sharply.
A quiet curse slipped from San under his breath.
Hongjoong did not react outwardly.
But something inside him hardened.
He reached out slightly, then stopped himself.
“Those are not your name,” he said.
She looked at him again.
As though trying to understand.
“Then what is?” she asked.
He did not have an answer.
His gaze dropped briefly.
And that was when he saw it.
Her hands.
Resting loosely in her lap.
Too still.
Her fingers were…Gold.
The tips shimmered faintly, catching the light in a way that made his breath still.
Realization settled slowly.
Then all at once.
The gold.
The castle.
The wealth.
Five years.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Of course.
Of course.
He looked back at her.
At the empty gaze.
At the stillness.
At what remained.
“You did this,” he said quietly.
Not accusing. Understanding.
Her head tilted slightly.
“I do things,” she said. “They bring straw.”
Her voice did not change. “I touch it.”
A pause.
“It becomes gold.”
Behind him, no one spoke.
They did not need to.
The truth was already there.
Written into everything around them.
Hongjoong exhaled slowly.
Then met her gaze again.
“You don’t have to do that anymore,” he said.
The words felt fragile.
But he meant them.
“I’m going to get you out of here.”
She watched him.
For a long moment.
Then asked, very simply: “From what?”
The question caught him off guard.
Not because he did not understand it.
Because she didn’t.
“You were imprisoned,” he said carefully. “Forced to do something you didn’t choose.”
She blinked.
“Ah okay,” she replied.
Just stating.
Hongjoong frowned slightly. “You’re free now,” he tried again.
The word felt heavier this time.
She looked at him.
Really looked.
For the first time.
And there was something there.
Not emotion.
Not quite.
Something close to confusion.
“I don’t know what that means,” she said. At that he subconciously reached for her.
The words settled between them.
And for the first time since entering the room, Hongjoong felt something close to helplessness.
Not because he did not know what to do.
But because he did not know how to reach her.
Before he could respond, movement cut through the stillness.
A figure stepped forward from the shadows near the wall.
Hongjoong turned immediately.
A boy. Young.
Fifteen, maybe.
Thin, but tense with something fierce.
A knife clutched tightly in his hand.
He positioned himself between them and the woman in an instant.
“Don’t touch her.”
His voice shook.
Not with weakness.
With fury.
Fear.
Protectiveness.
“If you do anything to her, I’ll kill you.”
The threat hung in the air.
Behind Hongjoong, weapons shifted.
But he raised a hand slightly. Stopping them.
His gaze stayed on the boy.
“You’ve been here with her?” he asked.
The boy did not lower the knife.
Did not move. “Yes.”
Hongjoong nodded slowly.
“Then you’ve been protecting her.”
The boy’s grip tightened.
“I won’t let you take her.”
Hongjoong exhaled quietly.
Something in his chest easing slightly.
Not because the situation was simple.
But because, finally, there was something in this room that still felt alive.
“I’m not here to hurt her,” he said.
The boy did not believe him.
That much was clear.
“No one comes here for nothing,” he snapped.
Hongjoong held his gaze.
“You’re right,” he said.
A pause.
Then, quieter: “I came because something was wrong.”
The boy hesitated.
Just for a second.
Behind him, the woman remained still.
Her gaze drifting back toward the window.
As though the conversation no longer concerned her.
As though nothing did.
And that…
That was what stayed with Hongjoong the most.
Not the gold.
Not the war.
Not the truth of what had been done here.
But the way she sat there.
Like someone who had already disappeared.
And had simply forgotten to leave.
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Hongjoong Masterlist
Wahhh empty husk of a reader and how joong was just at a loss everytime she gave an answer :"(( <3 the little boy appearing was a surprise...! I haven't read this fairytale before so this is all new to me. Oh my heart goes out to reader. Wonderfully written<3
Some doors lead home. Others lead to love. And some should never have been opened at all.
Core Aesthetic: dark fairytale, moonlight through trees, silk ribbons + thorny roses, candlelit rooms, destiny-coded romance, quiet feminine strength
Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Once upon a time, not long ago and not far away, there lived eight women beneath the same restless sky.
They did not know one another.
Their lives did not touch, not even in the careless way strangers sometimes brush shoulders in passing trains or crowded streets. Yet fate, patient as winter and certain as the tide, had already written their names upon the same hidden page.
They lived in a world that hummed with electric light and whispered through glowing screens. Cars sighed along rain slick roads. Clocks blinked red numbers through sleepless nights. Elevators rose and fell like measured breaths inside glass ribbed towers. It was a world too busy to believe in enchantment, too practical to make room for magic.
And yet magic, as it always has, waited quietly for those willing to stumble upon it.
For magic does not knock.
Magic appears.
𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊 𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊
It was early evening when the first woman found the door.
She had stayed too late at work again, her eyes sore from staring at lines that refused to soften and numbers that would not agree. The city glimmered after rainfall, each streetlamp doubled in trembling puddles. She pulled her coat tighter, her thoughts drifting toward nothing more mystical than a warm drink and a softer place to sit.
Then she saw it.
A door.
Standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
No walls framed it. No building claimed it. It rose from the concrete as naturally as a tree might grow from forest soil, tall and narrow, painted the deep blue of twilight just before the first star wakes.
She stopped.
For wonder often begins with stillness.
The handle shone like polished gold. When her reflection trembled inside it, she almost laughed. Surely someone had placed it there as an art installation. Surely it was a trick of advertising or theater.
Surely doors did not grow from pavement.
Yet something within her chest leaned forward.
The air smelled faintly of spun sugar and distant smoke, of stories told long ago.
Without knowing why, she placed her hand upon the handle.
It was warm.
Warmer than metal should be on an autumn night.
The lock sighed open.
And before thought could caution her, before logic could take her gently by the sleeve, the door breathed inward and the world tilted.
And a rhyme came through the door, consuming her whole:
“Threads of straw to gold be spun,
But every gift is dearly won.
Name the price and name it true,
Lest fate lay heavier claims on you.”
Light poured out, not bright but endless. It curled around her wrists like ribbon. The ground vanished. Time loosened its careful stitching.
She fell, though falling felt very much like flying.
The door closed behind her without a sound.
𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊 𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊
Elsewhere, miles away, the second woman hurried beneath a canopy of neon rain. Her umbrella had surrendered to the wind, turning itself inside out with theatrical despair. She ran laughing across the street, shoes splashing, hair clinging to her cheeks.
Then she nearly collided with it.
A door, pale as moonmilk, freckled with silver flecks that shimmered when she blinked.
She circled it once.
Twice.
The city moved on without noticing. People passed as if the space were empty.
Strange, she thought. Strange that only she could see it.
A rhyme rose in her head, as if half forgotten from childhood:
“Six shall wander bound by spell,
Only love may break it well.
Still your voice and guard each tear,
For silent hearts are strongest here.”
Laughing at herself, she pushed it open.
The wind vanished.
So did the street.
Feathers drifted upward instead of down. Her breath scattered into shining fragments. Somewhere far away, wings beat against a sky that had never known an airplane’s scar.
And she too was carried beyond the hour.
𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊 𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊
The third woman discovered her door at dawn, when the city still yawned and stretched and gathered courage to wake.
She was returning from a night that had asked too much of her heart. The horizon blushed faintly, promising morning. She wanted only sleep, and perhaps the kindness of forgetting.
The door waited beside a bus stop bench.
It was made of dark wood, scarred as if by claw or blade. Three strands of gold wound through its grain, glinting even in that fragile light.
When she touched it, a voice seemed to murmur without sound:
“Child of fortune, marked by flame,
Walk unafraid where demons claim.
Seek the gold none dare to keep,
And wake the secrets hell would sleep.”
The handle burned, yet did not harm.
When it opened, she smelled ash and iron. Somewhere, laughter echoed that was not entirely human.
She stepped through.
And destiny smiled its patient smile.
𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊 𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊
The fourth woman found her door deep within a park where winter had stripped the trees bare. Snow dusted the ground in sugar white silence.
She walked the narrow path each morning, believing routine could quiet the restless questions of her life. That day, the questions followed anyway.
So she almost missed it.
A small door, hardly taller than her shoulder, painted a red so vivid it seemed to pulse against the pale world. Frost traced delicate patterns across its surface like lace.
From beyond it came the faint crunch of footsteps on forest leaves.
And something else.
A low breath.
Watching.
Waiting.
She should have turned back.
Instead she whispered, half amused, half afraid the embossing of the door:
“Stray not far from beaten way,
For watching eyes prefer the stray.
Teeth may smile and voices soothe,
Yet hunger walks in gentle truth.”
The door opened before she touched it.
Snow became moss.
Silence became birdsong sharp as warning.
The path behind her vanished.
Far away, something howled.
𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊 𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊
The fifth woman encountered her door at the edge of celebration. Music spilled from a hall bright with laughter. She had slipped outside for air, her smile tired from too many polite conversations.
The alley glittered with discarded confetti.
At its far end stood a narrow ivory door, its surface carved with twisting vines. Tiny jewels winked from between the leaves like watchful eyes.
A shiver traced her spine.
For beneath the sweetness of its design lay something uneasy, something that hummed like a note slightly out of tune.
Still, curiosity is a stubborn companion.
She rested her palm against it.
From somewhere deep within came the echo of a song that faltered midway, as if joy itself had forgotten the melody.
“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."
The lock clicked.
A wind smelling faintly of earth and secrets curled around her ankles.
Then the world swallowed her whole.
𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊 𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊
The sixth woman discovered her door long after midnight, when sleep would not claim her. She wandered the quiet streets wrapped in a coat too thin for the cold, her thoughts loud as thunder though the city lay hushed.
She almost mistook the door for a shadow.
It stood unpainted, rough, its surface marked by years that had not yet passed. Snow gathered at its threshold but did not cross.
When she laid her hand upon it, the chill seeped inward yet left her strangely unafraid.
A whisper stirred, steady as a heartbeat:
“Wear the wild and bear the night,
Walk through scorn and shun the light.
When all recoil from what you seem,
Hold fast to hope no eyes can dream.”
The hinges groaned softly.
From beyond came the scent of pine and distant fires, and the lonely patience of long roads.
She stepped forward.
And the darkness welcomed her like an old companion.
𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊 𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊
The seventh woman found her door on an ordinary afternoon while escorting a small child home. They spoke of crumbs for birds and stories about witches made harmless by daylight.
Then the child paused.
“Was that always there?” she asked.
The woman followed her gaze.
A cheerful yellow door leaned beside a lamppost, bright as buttercups beneath the sun. At its base lay a scattering of white stones that looked suspiciously deliberate.
The child laughed and skipped ahead when called by a waiting parent, leaving the woman alone with her wondering.
She crouched, lifting one of the stones.
It glittered faintly, as if remembering stars.
And then whispered.
“Crumbs may fade and paths may bend,
Yet wit shall guide you to the end.
Trust not sweets nor kindly guise,
The sharp survive where danger lies.”
The door swung inward.
Warmth drifted out, sweet yet dangerous.
She hesitated only a moment before crossing through.
𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊 𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊
The eighth woman discovered her door just as twilight balanced between gold and blue. She lingered on a bridge, watching water carry the day away. Her reflection wavered, uncertain where she ended and the river began.
A pale gray door stood at the bridge’s center, so perfectly mirrored by the water below that it seemed to open both upward and down.
Strands of silver hair were painted along its arch, stirring though no wind blew.
When she approached, sorrow brushed her heart without explanation, quickly followed by a curious calm.
A murmur drifted toward her:
“Silk to rags and crown to dust,
Guard your name and learn whom to trust.
Though false tongues weave a stolen tale,
The quiet truth shall yet prevail.”
She pressed the handle.
It turned with solemn grace.
Water roared.
Feathers flared.
And somewhere, a crown waited to be reclaimed.
𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊 𓍊𓋼𓍊₊⋆ ⊹₊↟𓃦↟₊⊹ ⋆₊𓍊𓋼𓍊
Thus it came to pass that eight doors opened in a single turning of the hour.
Eight women vanished between one heartbeat and the next.
No newspaper marked their absence. No clock faltered. The world continued its tireless spinning, unaware that its careful rules had been quietly rewritten.
For beyond those doors stretched roads older than memory.
Forests whispered in languages forgotten by modern tongues. Castles rose where mist clung low. Rivers carried secrets instead of ships. Mountains listened.
Magic stirred like a sleep long undisturbed.
Each woman arrived alone.
Each believed herself the only one to fall.
Threads of destiny unwound, drifting toward separate horizons. Though their stories began together in that unseen moment, their paths would never cross.
Not at a marketplace.
Not at a crossroads.
Not even in dreams.
Yet the same ancient wind guided them all.
It sang softly through the turning leaves:
Eight were called and eight shall roam,
Far from all they once called home.
Through thorn and flame, through night and snow,
Toward the selves they’ve yet to know.
One would walk among courts where smiles concealed sharper things than blades.
One would wander forests where eyes gleamed gold between the trees.
One would stand before riddles spun by a power that delighted in bargains.
One would learn that love may hide inside the shape of a beast.
One would discover that innocence is not the same as weakness.
One would endure silence so that others might one day sing.
One would see through charm into the bones of danger.
And one would remember who she was even when the world insisted she was no one at all.
The doors, their work complete, faded like breath on glass.
Where they had stood, only ordinary pavement remained.
People passed.
Cars rolled by.
The night deepened, then softened into morning once more.
Yet somewhere far beyond the reach of satellites and schedules, eight new tales had already begun to write themselves across the fabric of time.
So if you should someday find a door where no door has any right to be, pause before you turn away.
Listen.
For magic favors the brave, the curious, the quietly yearning heart.
And should the handle gleam invitingly beneath your touch, you might recall the oldest promise ever spoken:
Step across and you may fall,
Yet rise transformed beyond it all.
For every ending is a seam,
And every life, a waiting dream.
And perhaps, just perhaps, you will wonder whether eight women once stood exactly where you stand now, unaware that the simple act of opening a door would scatter them like stardust into stories waiting patiently to be told.
For the tale has only begun.
And every once upon a time is merely the first echo of what comes next.
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A while back there was a tiktok going “Ooo this is the best restaurant and I’m not telling you where it is ;) you’re going to have to guess ;)))”
And another guy stitched it with a whole breakdown of her most recent posts to go “The day before you posted this you posted another video saying you met this celebrity and he had just posted that he was in this city. You also posted a video in a hotel room and after searching up hotels in this city, we can tell it was this hotel because the wallpaper in your video matches the wallpaper in pictures on their website. By looking up restaurants by this hotel we can tell you went to this specific restaurant” and he was right
And people called him a creep, but I think we should take this as a moral lesson to lie about ourselves online more. I’m actually a talking dog and I live in a Montreal poutinerie
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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