#;wallflower

The words Junho spoke left Su Min smirking. Of course, the lovely emperor would say those words. Putting down her pencil, she carefully pushed her notebook filled with possible suitors away. “There must be some kind of lesson here, your majesty,” she stated. There was never a doubt in Su Min’s mind that Junho was related to royalty and if he wasn’t, she never minded. As long as she wasn’t on his bad side, she didn’t really mind.

A thought passed. Who would she steal from today? It wasn’t as if this was abnormal. It was, in fact, a regular crime she committed. Others would blame it on her influences, but she only adored Junho. He wasn’t an influence just encouragement.

“An accusation of some sort, I suppose,” she chuckled. It would be too passive for Junho to declare that she didn’t participate in life. Much too passive. The man had a way to pound his lessons into her bones. Usually, it was with bruises and black eyes that could be covered up in make up. She wouldn’t dare defy his orders, not because she was scared, (dying, she always said, was a grand adventure), but because even those who gave pain needed pain. And Junho was delighted to hurt his subject.

Sometimes, she’d think of the boy and just smile. His demeanor was quite refreshing from the other members. They were tragic, really. Just human beings who hated the world. The passive ones who never spoke a word to anyone. At least Junho was somewhat entertaining. “Though, I’d suggest, you tell someone else those words,” she muttered as she got up from her seat. Thought caused others not to participate? They were thinking too much. She thought too little. Her feet glided around Junho’s lithe body and her fingers left a bundle of cash stuck into his back pocket. A smile hinged itself onto her pink lips. There was at least a few hundred million won in that wad.

“I’m almost always busy trying to live just to get your money, Emperor Lee,” she smiled, clapping her hands together. Her favorite people to steal were the ones her father chatted about.

Her father always updated her weekly who was too high in the business world to steal from. He always complained that he missed having her around so she could ward off enemies. Now, he’d have to play fairly. And it wasn’t as though the people she stole from cared. They would make up that money in a few hours. It was just that whoever was against her father was against her. It was the same way with Junho. Except Junho was far more easy on the eyes than her father, and far more fun to talk to.

“Blood and roses, truly,” she muttered. It was strange to hear such words from anyone. Her eyes stared blankly at her blue veins on her arms. It was the kind of book that one made on their own? Was it written in red? Was it written in blood? Did this boy understand what he was speaking about? Because she was spouting insanity straight at his face. Her figure stiffened a bit. One that was made on your own?

 “What secrets do you know!” she shouted, a little loudly as she jumped onto his desk. 

She grabbed him by the collar. Her eyes burning with some kind of rage. The kind that you made on your own. Her book was from the blood and tears she had learned to hide behind a mask of nothingness. She wanted to shake the poor innocent from his collar down. There was no possible humanity left in her at that moment. “What the hell do you know, you insolent brat!” she screeched. Her voice that was once empty roared like a lion in the empty lecture hall. Her true voice had left its state of slumber. There was no possible way he knew what she knew. There was no possible way he read the inside covers of her own book. It was impossible. Those were kept in her mind’s vaults. Rationality fled from her anger filled thoughts. 

Kill them. Su Min smiled at the thought of it. Killing someone? What was this about? Running like hell was never an option. One should die either trying to win or die losing. There was no victory. Running away only meant there were demons to escape. Except, demons, demons often followed everyone to the edge of the universe. 

Masochistic angels existed. They yearned for pain, pain, pain. It was twisted and strange, but they existed and they screamed in delight every time they got hurt. Was this woman  like the others? Was she an angel that wanted pain or was she one who gave the others pain? Clenching onto her pen, Su Min wasn’t sure how to respond to such a chant. 

A chant, a hope, inspiration, of some kind. There will be no more. There will be no more. It would be just a chance to run away from everything. It was as though it was the Lord of the Flies, kids who were stranded and island, chanting to kill the beast. The slaughter engaged. No one was going to survive.  Kill the beast, kill the beast, murder the beast, slaughter it. They were all beasts. Who were they kidding? 

Su Min looked away from her book. Her eyes blinked. She picked up the book in her grasps, compared it to the man in front of her and looked back. It was strange. The page she was turned to was one about an assassin. Did his fingers itch to kill? Did he think he was capable of killing someone? His broad shoulders, the posture that called for intimidation, the calmness in his looks. If he looked her way, she’d probably flush red. She never understood why it would happen. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, but when someone caught her in the act of staring, there was always dire consequences. But she flipped through the pages of her book once again, her fingers stopping on a quote that she enjoyed the most. 

“I’ve been told that authors write what they know,” she stated. Her eyes scanning the pages she was still on. Oh. The assassin was going to kill someone soon. Looking up from the book, she stared back at the man with hair of different colors. There was an air of arrogance that she could swallow from him. If she was anyone else, it would have scared her. But she had no emotion left in her bones. The only thing others could see from her face would be the apathy and the giggles that errupted from time to time. It was to keep her somewhat normal. It was to remind her that she was human just like the rest of them. It was a reminder that she was not paper and even her blank canvas had color. “So, characters have to be relatable,” she added. Oh, how she wanted to be like the Times New Roman letters in the book. Not a character, not a human, just spaces that weren’t meant to denote anything at all. She wanted to be nothing. If she was evaporating, it would have already started.