#insidiousrp

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: ↴ ➺ it's been a long time since I've written 4 word doc pages worth of anything- actually, this is a lie but acads don't count. Anyways, this is a piece where I've tried my best to begin Astrid's arc which is her own self realization and enlightenment. Usually her dreams are composed mostly of her nightmares that she had before her day of death but due to Atargatis's gift on the night of Christmas, Astrid was granted one dream. This is how it went. Shoutout to @Insidious Base for the gift and love to Lilith mun for being willing to read the hoard of words this is! P.S: the picture below is simply for visual and aesthetic purposes; the people portrayed aren't Daya and Haneul. ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Her body tensed automatically, fingers gripping her bed sheets tightly, bracing her for what was to come. Daya recognized the impending horrors of her nightmares, the kind that smelled of death and pain way before the terrors hit. She had them too often, so much that she would have thought she had gotten used to them by then. Alas, the foreboding would always be the same, as would her suffering.

But this was different; Daya could tell enough even from where she stood, in that very meadow where she wished she could spend eternity. The sun beamed down on the woman, the heat akin to soft kisses of bliss that were soothed by the light breeze that blew by, shaking the daisies out of their sweet summer slumber. For once, it felt like peace, like a place she could let down her guards. Perhaps it was the joy summer brought, or the serene bliss that surrounded it at that very moment. Despite all this, she could not ease herself forward, too on edge by her actual nightmares. Something wasn’t quite right, so it felt. Had it been that her nightmares were so deep into her soul that she thought every dream would be plagued with them? Perhaps so.

She braced herself for the sound of laughter, for the same gazes that looked past her as if she did not exist. But there was nothing save for the rustling of the leaves on the trees, bustling with joy as another breeze rustled about. The world was quiet, comforting and no matter how much she willed herself to push through her usual nightmare to get it over with, it never came.

Daya tilted her head to the sky, sooty lashes fluttering as her eyes closed the moment a snowflake fell onto her cheek. It was snowing… on the war-tinged and blood-soaked land of Joseon, it snowed. And it brought a joyous smile to her face.

There was something about the first snow that fell, about the first step that you took when the snow had settled onto the ground in its soft white sheen of magic. It made one feel special, their steps marked onto the fresh snow before it would soon be covered again. She had not lost her sense of wonder, and of delight, that this delicate and motional magic could encompass her like this. Daya loved the snow, reveled in the cold it brought even when the snowflakes did nothing more than tickle the tip of her nose and caused her to giggle to herself.

“So I get to see tomorrow again,” a voice mused in her ear, an exhilarating ripple of mirth that rushed through her body. She would know that voice anywhere, in the darkest room in the darkest night and filled with a thousand other people she didn’t know. She would recognize Haneul anywhere, everywhere and even in the spaces in between.

She whirled around to face his handsome visage, momentarily taken aback by just how beautiful he was; she had always said it, whispered under the cover of the night and in their stolen moments but there was something about him at that very moment. He did not sport the burden of war on his shoulders and was, for as long as she kept this dream, just a mere boy who had her heart held safe in the palm of his hands. How she would have begged to see this in reality, to know that he was safe and sound and would welcome her with the very smile that adorned his face. For once, she did not remember the vile face of her husband; Akihiro did not matter at this very moment.

“Tomorrow?” she asked, hand reaching up to brush a stray snowflake off his dark hair. He automatically leaned into her touch, his fingers wrapping around her thin wrist so he could rest her palm against his cheek. His skin was warm, as if untouched by the snow. “Yes. When I’m with you, I know tomorrow will come.”

But it wouldn’t; Daya knew that they lived in the midst of danger, war brewing everywhere they looked but it was a dream. She could live as much as she wanted in a dream. So as she drew herself to him to meet his lips with her own, she knew it would change everything. For the wonder of a first love would remain unmatched.

“How about we get some ice cream?” he whispered against her lips, breath fanning her face. He ghosted over her tiers, never really leaving as if he was addicted. And in turn, she pecked him again, as much as she wanted.

“Ice cream? At the teahouse again?” she groaned, pulling away momentarily.

Haneul laughed, his tone making it clear that he had thought this through.

Daya pressed her lips together into a line and glowered.

His hand landed on her hair, stroking it gently. “I know you hate everything about it but–”

“I hate the theory of it,” she groused, swatting his hand away. “The idea of flocking to buy ice cream when everyone complains about how cold the winter gets.”

“You, my dearest star, have a very odd way of thinking,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before completely pulling away, his hand reaching for her hand instead. “But let’s give it a try, hmm? Who knows when we will get this chance again?”

When will we get the chance to be together again?

The words lay unspoken in her mind, on the tip of her tongue but Daya did not have the courage to speak it out loud in fear that the dream would shatter into a billion glass shards, bringing back the nightmares she was so familiar yet still very scared of. So she rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Fine. Let’s go freeze our lips.”

The world morphed into a bustling teahouse, the snow-globe world still prevalent in its magic. Daya held her chin high as they passed the local and foreign patrons alike, passing a girl trailing her mother, a shawl around her small shoulders and a cup of something creamy held reverently in her hands. They passed a table of men who laughed loudly with no care of the world, hauling little coins of silver onto the table. Haneul led her to the furthest corner on the balcony, taking the little table that sat right at the edge of the wooden floor, overlooking the frozen Han. From where she sat down, the world looked different from what she knew… beautiful even. So this was what Joseon would be like if the war hadn’t taken her country…

She did not expect what she saw to be warm, laughter and joy painting the Joseon faces around her. They all smiled wide, even as their life ran without a care of her dream and how she had begun wishing this would never come to a halt. She could hear merchants shouting, people bartering, horse hooves clicking by in the distance, the cacophony joining the orchestra of clattering metal spoons and jeweled bowls, the teahouse a loud ruckus of… excitement. It was the only word she could think of.

Haneul smiled at her, breaking her out of her reverie. “Ready?”

“I’ve never been more excited,” she drawled, but suddenly she was.

She had snow in her hair and a smile on Haneul’s face. There was a frozen river to her right and the jolly sight of her people to her left; it was enough to carve warmth into her chest. Something thrummed at her fingertips, and she wanted to carve it and bottle it so she could cherish it forever.

“What flavor do you want to try?” he asked, unable to dim the light in his eyes.

Daya slanted her mouth. “Ice cream?”

“Plain it is!” He laughed and went to the counter, where two men taking orders greeted Haneul by name as he passed them a few bronze coins. A third figure stood farther back, filling bowls after bowls with something that reminded Daya of stars. It was a curious sight. Soon enough, Haneul came back with a platter. He set a spoon in front of Daya, followed by a metal bowl full of fluffy white ice that was topped with sweet milk, and a dried plum that could not have been easy to come by.

Haneul said something, talking about the bowl of deliciousness in front of them. But Daya wasn’t focused; she hadn’t eaten ice cream to know enough. She simply hmmed and tucked her spoon into the white blob, surprised at how smooth it was. It smelled and tasted faintly of persimmon and honey.

“Don’t stare,” she commanded.

Haneul grinned sheepishly and tugged a spoon of ice cream into his mouth, digging in as if an elated child. She touched the spoon to her lips, the cold chilling her skin. She shivered before dipping it into her mouth, surprised by the burst of honey and persimmon, the sugar sweetening on her tongue before the tartness exploded and dulled the cold of the milky ice.

“Well?” Haneul asked when she had drowned more than a bite.

Daya could only grin, and Haneul’s eyes sparkled as he gleaned the rest from her face.

This could be her first and last bowl of ice cream with him. The last time she could feel such unrestrained happiness at so mundane a moment. The last time she would see Haneul’s genuine smile and freeze her lips.

“I know,” he whispered, pushing her bowl closer with his knuckles before his fingers wrapped around her own, squeezing slightly.

There was so much to be said in that moment and a lot was said in the air between them; they didn’t need words, they simply knew. They both knew of the promises that they couldn’t keep anymore, about the very mundane wishes she had and of the dreams she spoke of that she could be by his side, make him smile as she laughed, weave tales by lamplight, and share secrets in the dark. That she could fall asleep in his arms and awaken to a brilliant tomorrow.

And he knew just like she knew, that they would never have this moment again. Tears had already begun pooling into her eyes, catching onto her eyelashes before spilling onto her cheeks. Pools of ochre gems sparkled with such sad vivacity that Haneul’s very own eyes began to water, a perfect reflection of liquid moonlight.

“How do you expect me to leave when you look at me like this?” Haneul whispered, the world stopping around them. They still sat on the balcony of the teahouse, in that very happy spot but the world did not move at will; it had long stopped ticking. Perhaps this was a way for the gods to allow them one final moment together, however prolonged it would be.

"Then don’t leave…” she whispered on a sob, the sound rippling between them. She knew it was impossible to get him to stay, just like he knew that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. Haneul leaned over the table, crossing the distance between their bodies to kiss her. She could taste her tears on his lips, salty yet sweetened by the ice cream. Her fingers tightened around his, knuckles turning white and her tears streamed harder down her face, falling onto her hanbok in splotches that she did not care for. Not when her heart was in pieces.

“Lee Daya, you are the air I breathe. I’m not leaving you for I will always be here, in your mind and in your heart. That’s enough for me but you have your story to tell, my star. And you have to make it a story worth telling. I love you, Daya. A thousand times over and I will never apologize for it.”

She felt it then, the shift in the air that told her what was to come. He felt it too for his lips lingered on hers for a moment longer; she committed it to memory, this final kiss. Just like she forced herself to remember every single detail of this moment with him. When she would wake up, she would go back to pain and even her dream self knew that. So she closed her eyes, giving into the kiss for the last time, refusing to see him leave. He was gone in the matter of moments, her name on his lips like a scared prayer and Daya sat there at the table on the balcony, crying and alone.

You see, it’s inevitable. When you meet someone who makes you laugh as you’ve never laughed before, cry as you’ve never cried before… there is nothing to do but fall. And she had long fallen for Yoon Haneul.

“He’s right, you know,” a voice picked up from beside her, breaking through the time stop. Suddenly, the world moved again, as fast and as loud, as if nothing had happened… as if he didn’t exist. Daya wiped at her face with the back of her hand, using the sleeve of her hanbok and turned to the side, finding a very familiar face that stared back at her with equally wide eyes, mouth set into a pensive moue.

She saw herself but the woman in front of her was not… her.

“Astrid.”

“You know I’m you, right?” she chuckled, leaning forward to grab the bowl of ice cream that had melted just a tad, the milky goodness dripping down the sides of the bowl in sticky rivulets. Daya stared, awed and confused as Astrid spooned a mouthful into her mouth, shuddering when the cold hit her tastebuds. It was strange looking at herself like this; now she saw what everyone meant when they said she looked like an unattainable dream. Hair that she would normally have kept braided and neat flowed like waves of dark matter down her shoulders which were bare, bracing the cold of the Joseon winter in her short dress. Astrid held herself tall and proud, a woman who knew what she wanted unlike Daya who had hunched over, hands tucked into her lap obediently. Astrid was a wildfire, Daya was simply a flicker of a flame. But in their differences, there was one thing the human woman recognized; it was eyes tinged with hurt. She knew it all too well.

“This tastes good,” Astrid spoke after a moment, smacking her glossy lips together and placed the bowl back in front of Daya. It was clean, spot free of the ice cream save for the seed of the date. “Is it too much if I ask for one more bowl?”

“Yes it is. Behave, will you?” Daya chided, pushing the bowl away to the side as she leaned her forearms on the table.

Astrid clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, mirroring Daya’s movements and leaned over the space too, her hands finding hers. Daya glanced at their intertwined fingers, chuckling to herself at the sight; they were both nimble and bony.

“We can’t both wallow like this, Daya. We’ve suffered too much to make fools out of ourselves at this point,” Astrid began again, surprising Daya by how soft her voice could get. It didn’t rise more than a whisper, audible enough that it was a secret shared between both women… or with herself.

“Until when will we chase what’s not there? Haneul will always be the love of our lives but he’s gone. And maybe no one can live up to him but it’s fine. We have ourselves. We are our names, the books we read, the dreams of the future that we have for ourselves. We are made of so much beauty that we forgot this, but along the way of life, we forgot this. It’s fine but we shouldn’t let the things that we’re not define us. Daya, I have you and that’s more than enough. None of us want to be in pain anymore so why are we carrying the burden of the world, let it all be damned!”

Astrid’s fingers clutched tighter around Daya who almost flinched, surprised by her own strong grip. Noticing the slight movement, the hold loosened but they still held hands. Like a pact of resolute acceptance. “The world doesn’t care about women like us, little star. Women like us make our own history.”

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“My favorite color is violet. The scent of roses makes me feel at home, wherever I am. I do not enjoy fish, but I will eat it to make a loved one happy, suffering through my smile.” Daya mused loudly, watching how her shoes kicked at the pebbles in front of her as she pushed herself onto the swing, the momentum briefly lifting her off the ground.

She snickered when the pebble rolled forward in an attempt to crush a fallen blossom flower only for the gentle spring breeze to flit it away as if a chasing game of never-ending feud of weights of who could outrun the other. A burst of inaudible laughter echoed next to her, carrying its worth in vivacity. Her eyes narrowed to brace the evening sun when she turned her head to find his face, the impending dusk enveloping both of them into hues of dulcet purples and oranges. Indeed, she'd always loved the dusk. It was as though a hand in the sky had pulled the sun from its berth... only to have the sun fight back, resisting, leaving a trace of itself to face amongst the stars.

“Why did you stop?” Haneul asked, surprise marring his face at her sudden halt.

He’d always indulged in her girlish whims, letting her live as much as she wanted for however long their stolen moments were. For however long they allowed themselves to be mere youths and not the actual beings who lived in a cruel world, they let each other live… breathe as if there was no breath to take tomorrow, no reason to do so either.

Daya inhaled a breath, offering him a toothy grin as she lifted herself from the swing. “Why don’t you have a seat instead? Perhaps it’ll make you speak as much as I have.”

His brows lifted, almost disappearing into his hairline and Daya had to bite on her inner cheek to refrain from the simper that threatened to slip past her lips at the sight of him panicking. The grin on her tiers curved higher as she traipsed her way to the back of the swing, the very one that hung idly in a secretive open invitation on the peach blossom tree that stood in Ilwolseong’s courtyard. Her fingers found the ropes of the handle and she gave it a nudge, beckoning him encouragingly.

“Do you not think the tree will break?” he asked, his throat constricting in nervousness.

“Is the mighty army officer afraid?” she jested in a serious tone, rattling the swing again. It seemed to have piqued his pride for he stood up with a roll of his eyes, the embers flashing almost silver in the dusk as he straightened the lapels of his uniform with resolute hands. “Only a child would be afraid of this.”

Haneul carefully, daintily, perched down onto the wooden bench of the swing and with a playfully exasperated sigh, she nudged his back straight in an attempt to relax his posture. And the moment his fingers found the rope, she pushed with every ounce of might she could muster, watching as he flew into the evening sky but in his panic began to kick his feet until he landed back down. Sweat dotted his forehead, what was usually a lovely face of marble now a pale shade of sick. Daya laughed, stilling the swing so he could calm the thrill of the height. It was only after a moment she spoke again, mirth filling her tone as she walked to the front, crouching on her knees so she could be eye-level to his gaze.

“Are you finally starting to breathe in a normal fashion?” Daya teased. “I must confess I find your behavior rather odd, considering you said only a child would be afraid to swing.”

“I wasn’t afraid.” Haneul wrapped a hand around hers. She slanted a disbelieving look his way. “You just lied to me.”

“I wasn’t afraid,” he repeated. “I was terrified.”

Peals of laughter broke through the little cocoon of the two, ringing into the purpled skies in honeyed and carefree twinkling bells of girlish mirth. Her smaller hand squeezed his bigger ones, keeping her hold onto him in no hopes of letting go soon even when he grinned back as if her laughter was contagious. Even when the old librarian poked his head through the orchid doors, a pensive look on his wrinkled face.

“You laugh too loud— as if you’re the only one in the world,” the older man pronounced, shaking his head.

Daya simmered, offering him a wrinkle of her nose. “Funny, my father used to say the same thing. You’d prefer I stop, good sir?”

“No,” Haneul spoke right after she had finished, his voice a cool breeze in the heated spring evening. “I would not.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: ↴ ➺ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: nsfw context.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

“𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞,” she whispered.

And Noah listened to her wish.

。 。 。

Her body was sore, delicious pain shooting up the span of her thighs and into her lower abdomen. For once, her pain wasn’t the after effects of her nightmares. His touches had been a soothing balm to her heated body yet at the same time, it felt like he raised every flick of fire inside of her. He’d been good to her the night before, heading every single of her desire-tinged whims and more until they’d both been drained and sweet sleep lulled them into dreamland in each other’s arms.

He was comfort. Even with the rough pads of his fingers against her body, between her legs, he was comfort. And she selfishly sought him and the way he whispered her name as if a sacred prayer from the Bible. Every bit of praise coupled by a filthy whisper that made even the Devil blush. Every caress before they shifted into a harder, rougher, touch. Even as sleep came to a slow wake, the memories of the night were still fresh in her mind.

By heavens, he was beautiful— his thumbs had brushed over her high cheekbones, as if committing every dent, curve and bump of her features to memory. She’d always found fascination in the statues she saw in pictures that littered the gardens of the Vatican away from public eyes and she knew why they were kept hidden; somehow, the one in the middle of the gazebo had always looked like he gave into desires and mourned the hearts he knew he broke, the kind that only heavens knew with their massive span of wings and marbled visages set into expressive emotions. Astrid had always wondered what it would be like to be treated as such by an angel — by a god — and there she was last night, in the arms of a certain man who was nothing short of.

Sunlight pooled in, peeking through the curtains of her bedroom, kissing her skin in dulcet pecks in an attempt to wake the siren soothingly. It was cool salve, the December sun coupled by the cold air easing her soul back into reality and out of the sex-haze she still wanted to be in.

Astrid twisted, naked and curvaceous body twisting languidly into the silk sheets. Her hand reached for the space next to hers, eyes still closed in search for perhaps five more minutes of bliss in his arms but lithe fingers instead found cold sheets and empty space until they found a sharp edge, almost piercing into her delicate skin. With a soft grunt, Astrid pushed herself to a seat, the silk sheets barely tucked over her body as she fished about for the… a card. She opened it, the familiar scrawl pulling a grin to her mouth.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "𝙃𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙙𝙖𝙮, 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝘼𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙙.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 26 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. 𝙐𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣, 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝙍𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙨: 12:9.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙮, ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝙉.”

And there they were, true to his words. A bouquet of white lilies laid on the pillow he had slept on, their tender petals fluttering with the slow breeze that pooled in from the slightly ajar windows. Their scent wafted to her nose, enticing her entire morning and she made a pointed push at the knots in her stomach, shoving the emotions away for the day as she got up, pulling the silk sheet haphazardly around her naked body as she picked up the lilies to bring to the kitchen.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: ↴ ➺ 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬: 내리는 눈밭 속에서는 by 서정주. npc!yoon haneul is daya's first love, someone who gave her hope in the midst of war. ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

❛ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 괜, 찬, 타,… ❛ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 괜, 찬, 타,… ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒. 수부룩이 내려오는 눈발속에서는 까투리 매추래기 새끼들도 깃들이어 오는 소리…

She’d always loved the smell of books, of the ink that stained the flimsy papers, and of the glue that bound page after page to create a perfect masterpiece. Ilwolseong was majestic in its war-stricken beauty, the pillars that held the poetry-inscribed ceiling tilting so far up that she had to crane her head to find the end; the library’s safe keeper was an old man, withered by wise years and a kindred spirit. He was the kind of soul that Daya cherished most with his penchant for poetry and life. He was a Joseon person, one who hated the war that waged around the world as much as she did, if not more. And he was the same man who had granted her -them- such a space to share.

The old man stroked his beard with a serious yet pensive hum, thick yet greyed brows knitting in the middle. Anxiety rose in Daya, her heart dropping to the pit of her stomach, and she leaned forward on her forearms, inspecting the text he was looking at.

“Is it correct?” she probed, ochre gaze boring intensely into his face.

He took his time answering and Daya had to dig her fingers into her arms to refrain from tapping her tips along the wooden table, impatience, and curiosity coursing through her with no intention of appeasing her mind. The man cast a glance to her before midnight gaze fell back onto the inked paper; what was normally a soothing voice to listen to was now simply chiding, pointing out every flaw in the poem.

❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆, 울고 ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆, 웃고 ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒, 수구리고 ❛ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄. 새파라니 얼어서 運命들이 모두다 안끼어 드는 소리…

Daya’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, her teeth sinking into the plump flesh of her lower lip. He hated it. She knew by the look in his eyes, the very one that usually spoke volumes instead of words when any poetic art was not to his liking. She ought to say something, to defend the way it was her first and last attempt to write any sort of memoria for herself despite being uneducated. Girls like her -Joseon girls- were not meant for poetry or art or anything that brought pride in beauty.

But any protest she had died on her lips before it even started.

The wind changed, the cool spring breeze picking up the delicious scent of the peach blossoms that grew just outside. Daya instinctively knew he was there; there was no logical explanation for it, but she felt his presence behind her, like the subtle change in seasons when spring had just begun kissing summer’s sun-kissed cheeks. This was not necessarily a welcome change. She liked to think she did not suffer that kind of delusion. Not yet at least.

But even the moments when the leaves fell from their boughs – even that moment – had a beauty to it. A glory of its own.

And this change? This made her shoulders tense and her stomach spin. Only for her frame and soul to relax exponentially. It was real… and all the more terrifying.

“Did you write that?” Haneul asked quietly.

The sound of his voice slid down her back, bringing to mind cool water and sun-warmed honey. Daya’s mouth curved into a genteel grin. You’re here.

The silent hello was enough for him to look at her, marbled visage melting into an artist’s canvas of a handsome nobleman. She watched as he approached, his ember gaze flitting from her face to the papers that lay on the table between her and the librarian.

“Is it correct?” she asked again, directing the question to him and glanced down at the poem she had been pondering over.

And when she looked back up at Haneul, her heart lurched before it began to pick pace as if trying to escape the cage that was her ribs. His eyes were alight with an emotion she had recently become familiar with.

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞.