#shelight

                   🎲ʚɞ   ―  Hyun  stared  at  her,  his  eyes  empty,  giving  nothing  back  as  she  begged  for  something  —  anything  —  to  hold  onto.  The  mask  had  slipped.  The  game  was  finished.  He  didn’t  bother  pretending  anymore;  he’d  already  gotten  what  he  wanted:  an  heir,  someone  who’d  one  day  stand  toe-to-toe  with  Gwi-Ma.  That  was  always  the  point.

                   His  voice  was  light  —  almost  entertained  —  while  she  fell  apart,  choking  on  the  truth  she’d  tried  so  hard  not  to  see.  She  clung  to  the  scraps  of  their  past,  insisting  it  meant  something,  that  what  they’d  shared  was  real.  He  tilted  his  head,  looking  down  at  her  with  a  cold  curiosity.  “Didn’t  you  hear  me?”  His  eyebrow  arched.  “I  never  loved  you.  You  were  just  a  means  to  an  end.  Now  that  I  have  what  I  want,  you’re  nothing  to  me.  You  can’t  lose  what  was  never  yours.”

                He  was  already  thinking  of  leaving.  He’d  return  when  she  was  ready  to  give  birth,  but  there  was  no  reason  to  linger  now.  “It’s  almost  funny,  isn’t  it?”  he  murmured,  a  wicked  smile  curling  on  his  lips  as  he  traced  a  finger  beneath  her  trembling  chin.  “Imagine  —  a  demon  like  me,  capable  of  loving  you.  How  foolish.”

               He  drank  in  the  devastation  on  her  face,  savoring  the  final  blow,  and  then  —  without  another  word  —  vanished,  leaving  nothing  behind  but  the  echo  of  her  heartbreak  and  a  cloud  of  black  smoke.

Stevie gazes over at Mi-Yeong as she speak to her, a brow slightly quirked upward as she listens to her words. Listens to the tone in her voice. She offers the woman a soft, reassuring smile. Stress. Yea, she understood that. She had been down that road a time or two in the past, she'd admit. It was natural, of course.

"Yea, sleep is always a good remedy for stress but," she softly exhales, "I know you 'n the girls are gonna do good. Y'always do," she says, crossing over leg over the other as she looks at her own cup on the table.

"Other than worry for the performance, y'doin' alright?" she asks, taking the teacup to take a sip from, "Is there anythin' else weighin' on y'mind that might be contributin' to the worry?"

If there was, of course, she'd be there to listen.

@shelight | From xx.