eiraws

[eiraws]

・ 𓂃  ₊  🦢 𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐀 ;​

( . . . )

it’s hard not to melt into an endeared smile at the sight of the younger girl, all bubbly enthusiasm and good intentions. “if i knew any better i’d think you were calling me old,” she retorts, though there’s no malice in her voice as she stands up, following the younger idol’s lead. “but, i would be honored to share the stage with you once more, eira. just like old times, right?” she moves to link arms with eira, beginning to move towards the noraebang machines. “how have you been? things have been so hectic since the end of select i’ve barely had any time to check in on you. you’ve been taking care of yourself, right? trying to sleep enough, drinking enough water?” she knows it’s hard to make yourself the number one priority when their jobs were as demanding as they were, but aera’s always been prone to worry about others, and a gentle reminder does good one way or another. “i can’t say i’ve been great about any of it, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“a grin comes naturally to eira upon the other girl’s response, her laughter filling the air comfortably. it had been a while since they’d been able to catch up and now had felt like the perfect opportunity for eira to seek out her friend and just the thought of aera doing the same made her feel much more content. “ah i’ve missed you too,” she hums, swinging her hand in her friend’s excitedly. “and thank you, it means a lot to hear it from you. i’m glad i’ve made good progress since the show,” eira laughs, knowing that some of the confidence and comfortability of executing such performances so out of her comfort zone had been something aera had helped her with back on the show. 

arms linked with aera’s, eira makes her way across the patio and at the older girl’s remarks, eira can’t help the mischievous glint that enters her eye. “hmm, well i suppose you’re no ajumma just yet but with all those questions about my health, you don’t seem too far off,” she teases not unkindly, not doing much to hide her genuine appreciation for aera’s doting. she wonders if she should give the older girl an honest answer though, that no she hasn’t been as well as she should be but everything will be better soon. she’s nowhere close to the dark downward spiral she’d been on during pre-debut, as evident in the ease of which she slips in to a lighter facade, but things are starting to catch up to her about how surreal this all is now. eira doesn’t think she’s had a proper nights sleep in months and her insomnia had yet to release her from its clutches. at the very least she’s had an excuse to keep practicing late into the nights. “but to answer you, i’ve been well enough i suppose.we’ve all had some pretty hectic schedules i’d say but i don’t want to dampen anyone’s mood so don’t worry too much me for now. as you said, let’s enjoy today like old times,” she says as they’ve reached the machine, taking a seat up close to wait out for a group of idols who are just finishing up their set. “you know it feels just like yesterday that we only just started select and now we’ve debuted and everything. we’ve come a long way don’t you think? has it been everything you’d thought it would be?”

[eiraws]

( 🦢 )　╱　 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐂　 ;​​

.   ❀   — 　@wsaera​​​​ 　&.　spring up event  !

“　어 느    작 별 이    이 보 다    완 벽 할 까  　     ⚘ 　　𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦　𝘮𝘦　𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺　𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭　𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴　𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨　.　”

the sun had only just dipped below the horizon, a golden afterglow illuminating the party and casting floral shadows upon the walls when eira stepped out onto the patio. by now, some idols were making their leave whilst others migrated to the open area to enjoy more casual conversations. and as eira follows, the subtle scent of spring floods her senses like a perfumed cloud. the atmosphere outside is aslively and vibrant as it has been at the start, if not even more now as artists and staff alike floated around care-freely with the soft sounds of singing drifting in the air.

making her way to a seating area, the sight of one particular idol causes a sparkling grin to fall upon the dancer’s lips. what takes hold of eira’s attention immediately is the sight of aera sitting upon of the many lounge seats. “aera unnie, i was just looking for you!” eira’s steps over to her excitedly, her laugh chiming like bells as she nears. “your performance before was amazing, how are you feeling?” she cheers on the older girl as she takes on of her hands, eyes flickering around her asif to absorb the atmosphere. “it’s been a wild day, at least for me, but if you’re not too knocked out though, don’t sit here all night. sing with me!” at this eira tugs aera’s hand lightly, an silent request to follow her in what could only be the direction of the noraebang machine. eira, unlike the girl in front of her, was no absolute angel at singing but that didn’t seem to deter her at all as an innocent, evergreen smile settles on her features. “come on, i think the last pair’s almost finished their song!”

[eiraws]

( 🦢 )　╱　 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄　𝐀𝐍𝐃　𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋　 ;​​

   .   𓈊   — 　@wseunbin​​ 　&.　spring up event  !

“　𝘸𝘦'𝘷𝘦　𝘯𝘰𝘵　𝘺𝘦𝘵　𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵　𝘢𝘭𝘭　𝘰𝘶𝘳　𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴  　     𖥔 　　𝘵𝘩𝘦　𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴　𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭　𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺　𝘪𝘯　𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴　.　”

spring had descended upon seoul, as eira liked to believe, unexpectedly and with it came the invitation at arcana’s door of a spring party. but no amount of flowers and sunshine seemed to ease the discomfort in eira’s bones in the days following. ever since the announcement was made and her group was tasked with pulling off a performance of phoenix’s 90’s love, the former ballerina had found herself relatively on edge. she doesn’t think she’s slept properly in days, spending most of her hours within the dance studio hoping to do her best in perfecting the lively movements of the other group’s choreography. but, with only a week leading up to the event, eira can’t help shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right in the way she moves. each time she goes through the routine, hitting the beat perfectly and moving her limbs in just the right motions with as much of her performative charisma as she can, it can’t be helped that frustration bleeds through. there’s something that isn’t there just yet and she’s not sure what it is as it eats at her conscience, begging her to find it before someone else can point out the flaw for her. something didn’t feel right and the more she put her mind on it, concentrating on the tiniest of things, the more she felt the pressure of the performance that was meant to be a more vibrant, carefree stage. 

and so gwyneira arrives at the 11:11 building early one morning in hopes of catching an empty studio in which she could practice once again, even before the rest of her group members makes it in. however, she only manages to find herself in the company’s café, that by the looks of it was empty, before she stops. it was almost empty it seemed.

before eira takes the next turn to the elevators she catches sight of one other person in the building this early, the other idol’s face standing out to her in a sea of nothing but air. it’s a split second decision for her between pressing the elevator button or abandoning her bags to make her way to the clover girl. eira and eunbin had barely had another chance to meet up since their respective debut schedules and in the days leading up to their next big performance, whether she realises it or not, eira finds a comfort in knowing that it seems someone else may be in just as much anticipation for it as her, whether negatively or not.    

“ah, eunbin! it’s nice to see you here early too, i was beginning to think i was the only one here,” eira’s laugh is delicate as she approaches, mustering as much of her usual whimsy as she could as she greets the younger girl. though eira had always been very sensitive to critique of any kind, it was calming knowing the girl before her, who had been in the industry far longer than eira, now stood in the same shoes and was willing to aid her walk through it without judgement. she wonders if eunbin, who she had been so casually pitted against by fans during their select days and whom she’s sure has made enough observations of her dance as eira has eunbin’s, would know just what she needed to set herself back on the right path.

[eiraws]

@weare_arcana: back where it all began! behind the scenes of select! season 2 i thought it would be a good time to come back and thank all our fans again. it’s because of you that we’ve made it so far, from day one of the show until now, and i’ll never forget your unending support. please look forward to what’s in store for arcana in the future and let’s all cheer on this season’s contestants as you’ve done for us. we are you’re fortune, hwaiting ! ~ 🦢

[eiraws]

KARINA ’dreams come true’ ending fairy ★

[eiraws]

🦢 　𝑯𝑶𝑳𝒀　𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃　 ;​​

     .   𓍯   — 　@wsrohan​​ 　&.　spring up event  !

“　'　𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦　𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨　,　𝘪𝘵　𝘸𝘢𝘴　𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 　　　      ꗃ 　　𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳　𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨　𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯　.　”

the party is well underway with all the artist’s main performances finished, and now they float around, weaving in and out of their various social circles — a myriad of famous faces and names that, to eira, merely blur together. arcana’s dancer finds herself idle in a crowd of people and she doesn’t think she’s ever felt so out of place anywhere before but in a sense she doesn’t really mind. she’d left her group’s table only a few moments ago, the one with the pretty display of golden lilies and amaranth roses that she must have stared at for an hour before she was drawn away by one idol chatting with her, leading her out as they exited the venue onto the patio, leaving the girl alone somewhere in between.   

truth be told it was not her favourite of the seasons, but eira sinks into the atmosphere of the spring event with ease. she appreciates the blossoms and the streams of sunlight that kiss at her skin as she makes her way to a less dense area of the hall. there’s something in the air that feels inexplicably nostalgic and though its a sense she can’t quite place, she doesn’t need to do much to figure it out. whether or not she was aware of it, she seemed to be actively seeking someone out. 

gwyneira jeon has loved a million things in her life; places, songs, flowers... people. and it was all in the sense that she truly loved them, inexplicably and inexorably because it is in her nature to fall that deeply so quickly and with such reckless abandon. and it a love that lingers, in perpetuity, no matter at what age it had been acquired. now that spring has arrived and love is in the air, a feeling of nostalgia floods her senses into thinking instantly of all the things she loves and has ever loved. cha rohan just happened to be one of them.   ​

​its a magnetism she believes to be something acquired, an impulse of her usually well-controlled limbs to find her way to him because it is safe and it feels like home. it ties her back to all the good of the days before and the bad that with her naivety, she refuses to acknowledge. eira doesn’t think she’ll ever see him in a poor light or associate him with such, not as her friend and not as what he had been after that. it is the magic of first loves and first losses she supposes. but she knows that he wasn’t really lost to her at all. unmoving and constant, she’d found a best friend in someone she can’t help but love like this season makes her want to. he’ll always be there, someway and somehow. it’s a promise they’d woven into dance all those years ago as children and one she’s sure she reminded him of when she’d last seen him months ago.  

the last time they’d spoken in person had been before the first select season began, their careers forcing a divide between them until now. but its not like she’d forgotten what his presence felt like. rather she always had a knack for picking him out in a crowd and its when no one’s really looking either of their way that she catches sight of him, back turned to hers but she recognises him still. “rohan!”

his name slips from her lips excitedly and without thought, a reflex from all the times she’d called it in the past. before she really knows what she’s doing or saying she’s making her way to him, her eyes alight with something akin to enchantment and a soft, whimsical smile on her face that she reserves only for people she’d known as long as she’d known rohan. eira had always been an eloquent speaker but now it seemed all words were lost to her but at least with rohan, actions always spoke louder than words. and so the follow dancer crashed into him in a way that one could only call graceful because it was her. its an act so characteristically eira, pulling him in a hug before he even realises, that identifies her in an instant.

its that unspoken understanding snd relief that passes between them from the moment she calls out to him until he turns around to see her. “long time, no see. if i didn’t know any better, i’d have thought you were ignoring me,” eira teases him lightly, knowing both their busy schedules where to blame for this need of a reunion, her laugh emanating like a breathe of air.

[eiraws]

 𝑻𝑯𝑬     𝑽𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺    ⊹     𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗜   :   AUDITION DAY.

❛  　 🦢 　 𝗰𝗲, 𝗾𝘂'𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗲 𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝗲 𝘃𝗶𝘃𝗿𝗲       —-         　     𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘳  　 ❞

                                                                                                /    𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾 .

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐎　 .　 𝐈　 (　 D　 ♭　 major　 )

A delicate figure, carved out of glass and brittle kaolin, stands atop an ivory platform. Her stage, painted with pale flowers and encrusted by rings of pastel tourmaline, remains dustless despite neglect. The tiny dancer is fragile in her carefully constructed features as she twirls to a haunting rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Theme that floats through the air like an eerie lullaby. Her porcelain-edged grace remains unwavering as she is forced by some higher power—the winding of a clockwork key—to spin in the perpetual motions of a music box ballerina. Nothing is of her own volition but she doesn’t mind it because she has no mind at all, at least not one filled by anything but the desire to dance. She embodies perfection in its purest form, like a living angel or a symmetrical snowflake. And she dances as if she were free, or as if she longs to be. They say she cannot dance forever, that there is hesitation in perfection, in living the life of a doll pulled by invisible strings and turned by rusting cogs as the world looks on in pity. She pursues the stars but she cannot move and she longs to open doors that she cannot reach because the world is pulling her down like a weight. She holds the Earth’s sins and prejudices upon her shoulders like Atlas held the heavens but she continues to dance, pirouette after perfect pirouette.

And the ballerina lives behind rose-painted eyes and must be content with the world she sees, despite growing ambitions and desires, because her life is not her own. As a marionette and a pretty puppet, the world forges a path for her to walk and she cannot deviate or else she will break her little ceramic limbs and fissures will form upon every surface of her body until there is no redemption left for her. 

But what if . . .

Eira remembers her audition day like it was a long-lost fever dream, vividly in flashes but never with much certainty as she would like to recall it. It is there, somewhere nestled in the back of her mind in a box labelled, The Beginning, the true turning point of her life. The choice to audition for an entertainment had been half on a whim, a friend of hers from the dance academy having mentioned it to her once around the time she’d felt like her world was caving in on her at all sides. It was a time when she could no longer bare to even look directly in the mirrors lining studio walls for fear that the only thing she’d see in them was a shell of the passionate girl she’d been before. And more greatly, for fear that the only person staring back at her would be herself. It was a time when she’d never felt more alone, in need of something to validate her existence beyond what she could achieve solely in a pair of pointe shoes.

Angelfish Entertainment’s auditions had called to her like a pied piper, entered her palms like a little sliver of grace. So the ballerina shows up at the building on the open call audition day, fully prepared yet entirely hesitant. And she is alone. She hadn’t told anyone she’d be auditioning and that’s what she’d thought would be best if the circumstance arises in which she fails. It’d kill her, she thinks, to see disappointment in someone’s gaze or to be criticised for making what she knows they would think to be a mistake. However standing there amongst a sea of other trainee hopefuls, Eira thinks she should have at least brought a friend. 

 *  *  *

She might not entirely remember the events of the day or what occurred between the moments of entering and auditioning and leaving, but what has stuck to her with utter permanence would be her movements and the dance she’d performed. She’d entered the room in her usual whimsical nature, breezing through the necessary introductions without faltering her words despite what eats at the core of her mind. She thinks it had been nervousness, but in her own way she would always be too proud to admit it. If there was a confidence she had in anything, it would be in dance.

It had not been ballet she had performed but a gaze into her contemporary roots, a world she loved just as much but never had the same pressures as ballet had for her. Each step to the beat is something akin to freedom, the choreography unravelling in perfect clarity somewhere behind a veil in her mind. She remembers falling deep into the sort of delirium that only dance can bring her and she doesn’t even need anything else to captivate her assessors. It was and had been undeniable from the beginning of her time, that Gwyneira Jeon had been born for the stage.

* * *

It was a quick, sharp snapping of china clay somewhere in her figure that draws the tormenting melody to a gradual halt. The ballerina’s movements slow, becoming as rigid and still as the day and the music draws out until there’s only a staggering silence. The cracks, fine dark ridges, crawl up the side of her perfect porcelain face and run down her mid-pirouette figure, reaching the tips of her sculpted pointe shoes, and she shatters. Her kaolin body bursts because she is in such desperate disarray and can no longer hold the broken pieces of herself together. Little porcelain shards sprinkle around her ornate music-box in a slowed down motion that resembles feathers raining from heaven and when they fall they fall harshly, splintering into a million pieces. The air fills with the scent of silk and wilted rose-petals and the burning aftertaste of sulphur as she breaks away. As her cracked skin meets harsh painted ridges and the metal spikes of a key that was her master—not her freedom—her beloved prison crumbles and buries her, digging deep into her fragmented soul…

But the beautiful music box ballerina can no longer feel the pain.

Because she is free.

[eiraws]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗶 ; 𝚕'𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎

gwyneira in the springtime emobodies:

swan feathers drowning a puddle of springtime rain / faded flowers arranged into wreaths and fairy crowns / enchanted gardens in full bloom / the sound of vivaldi’s the four seasons: spring / a trapped rose, basking in sunshine under a glass display / pinned butterflies with iridescent blue wings / pale pink pointe shoes, beaten and worn and discarded / a faded matryoshka doll, becoming more vibrant and youthful with each small layer / a music box ballerina, rewound.

[eiraws]

They called her naive for believing in the good in people. But she was just a loving soul, who thought that even monsters needed someone, who truly believed, they were angels once and they can be it again. And yes, maybe that was naive, but this world needed people like her.

Veronika Jensen  (via siikens)

[eiraws]

・ 𓂃  ₊  🦢 𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐀 ;​

( … )

time. it’s something that aera of all people has had more than enough of. at twenty-three she’s one of the oldest left in the competition, and one of the longest training out of the bunch. if there’s anything aera needs it’s not that. but somehow she still wants one more day, a little more time to let herself commit every inch of this place into her memory. time where she and eira are on the same team. “i’ll miss you, you know. if we’re not on the same side when this is all over. it won’t be the same.”  the odds of debuting are slim, but the chances that they both debut and end up on the same team are even smaller. aera can’t help but prepare for the worse case scenario. regardless she pastes a half-smile back on her face, refusing to weigh the mood down too much with her retrospection. “but you don’t need me to help— you’ve improved so much! not that you weren’t good before, but with what you’ve learned since the beginning of select…ready to debut as anyone.” aera reaches out, lightly pinching the younger girl’s cheek affectionately. “i hope i get to see you on one of those purple seats, tomorrow.”

　

eira peers at the stack of photos in the older girls hands, a smile tugging at the corners of her own lips in an attempt to reflect the same positivity as aera. “oh wow, unnie! this is amazing, thank you,” she takes the pile that aera offers her as laughs at her teasing, making a gesture of zipping her mouth as a promise of secrecy. she only briefly flips through the photos before that familiar bittersweet feeling begins to settle in the pit of her stomach and her eyes can no longer hide the sadness no matter how optimistic she wishes she could be. eira had always been hopeful, except now it felt a little too difficult to be. “i didn’t know you’d taken so many, but i’m happy you did. i wouldn’t want to forget any of this experience, no matter what happens tomorrow. i just wish i could’ve given you something too,” the former ballerina pouts at the thought of not having something to give aera in turn, especially as thank you for all she’s done to selflessly help her so far in the competition. an eira always loved being able to gift someone something to cherish, it's always been something she’d do either to make up for her lack of permanent presence in their lives or otherwise. there was her reputation of being too fleeting of a creature but perhaps now that aera’s captured her in all these photographs, it means she’s got all the more reason to stay around, to continue towards the goal she’s so close to both reaching and abandoning as the final episode of select nears.

shaking herself out of her reverie, she places the stack of polaroids down to draw her legs up in a more comfortable position, laying back to rest against the bed-frame. “yeah, i started packing my things a while ago. looking back on it, i think i may not have even fully unpacked to begin with because it seemed a lot easier of a job than i expected. or maybe i’m a bit eager to get to what’s in store afterwards, whatever that may be. i knew the finale was coming at some point and as sad as it might be to leave, i can’t say i’m not preparing for what happens when this all ends,” eira’s tone is half nostalgic and half hopeful, her mind struggling to tug her towards the blindly optimistic mindset she’d always prided herself on before.

“of course, even after tomorrow, whatever the result, its not really the end is it? we’ll all move on to greater things, i’m sure of it. even if we’re not together in one team, we’ll still be together in some sense” she pulls up the best grin she can muster as she flashes the first few photos of them from the top of the pile. the memories in those polaroids are something eira doesn’t think she’ll ever let go of, not even in many years down the line whether she’s debuted in a group or returned to her life before all of this. but instead of thinking about her own inner conflicts, she chooses to focus her attention on helping aera appease hers. “i’ll miss you too but no matter what its not like we’ll never see each other again. i’ll make sure of it,” and when she’s says this, its with barely any of the mindless whimsiness she usually presents, only a strong determination in her voice that she usually only reserves for dance. but if there’s anything eira’s certain of, its that she’s not letting go of the friendships she’s made through select, not like she’d done in the past. 

she lets out a giggle as aera pinches her cheek, furrowing her eyebrows in fake frustration before she speaks again, her voice filled with nothing but sincerity and honest gratitude. “i’d say a lot of my improvement couldn’t have happened without you, you know? you’ve helped me a lot, especially when all of this was so new to me. if i do end up on one of those seats tomorrow, just with you, just know you’ll be one of the first people i’ll be thanking.” aera has been training in this industry far longer then eira had even considered it as an option, so if ever there was someone eira had confidence in to make it, it was her. there’s a reason the older girl had since day one been eira’s guiding star and that’s one thing she hopes won’t be changing any time soon.

“either way, just know i’ll be your number one fan regardless. i’ll stream all your songs a hundred times over, don’t worry!” she adds in a more lighthearted tone, making a *hwaiting* hand gesture.

[eiraws]

@weare_arcana: spring is in the air and my love for you is blossoming like a flower ! 🌻 it’s now the season of new beginnings but the best part of that is looking back on how far we’ve come and��grown together, so please look forward to something special very soon. in the meantime, enjoy the sunshine and roses! love, eira~~ 🦢

[eiraws]

Aespa at 2022 Coachella | Karina | ©

[eiraws]

・ 𓂃  ₊  🦢 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐋 ;​​

when he’d first left yuseong, haneul had overhead his mother ask his brother if he thought the trainee would ever smile again. he’d been so against the idea of leaving his group, especially after he’d made it so far — but the concerns his family had for him were genuine and, at the end of the day, he knew he couldn’t keep going in his dream while making his mother worry.

at first, every day was the same — monotonous, boring, and painful. every day he had someone new poking and prodding at him, trying to figure out what was wrong with the trainee. it would take time to figure it out, he knew that, but the longer they took to name whatever was wrong with him, the more time away from yuseong he would have to spend. he’d been lucky, in a way — they hadn’t canceled his contract, allowing him to step down from the final phoenix lineup and start over again as a trainee, whenever his body would allow.

if his body ever allowed it.

depressed. the doctors often spoke in hushed tones to his parents but, with nothing else to focus on, haneul had heard it. he supposed they were right but then again, who wouldn’t be, in his situation? still, that was about as much as he could handle hearing today, leaving his parents to deal with the doctors as he made his way outside.

since he’d started coming to the hospital, he often spent time near the entrance just to people watch. he watched people come in and out, wondering if they were here for themselves or someone they knew, or if they felt the same rage he did about their situation. it helped get his mind off his own issues, if only for a short while.

the last few times he’d sat out here, he’d noticed the girl — she seemed to be around his age, maybe a little younger. at first, he thought she’d been coming in to see a relative, but he’d passed her in an examination room on her own once, so that couldn’t be it. usually, he never interacted with the people he saw, too shy to try to strike up conversation but today, emboldened by his frustration, he ignored the anxiety in the pit of his stomach as he called out to the other.

“yah, do you just come in here to steal other people’s good health?” he asked, head cocked slightly to the side. “‘cause i would do that too, if i could.”

　

there had once been a time when gwyneira jeon hadn’t hated the hospital. she used to find it fun to sit around in the waiting rooms or one of the empty doctor’s offices causing innocent chaos with her childhood friend. but those days have long passed her and now, the sterile white hallways and the sounds of screaming or crying that she’d hear every time she sat in those almost but not quite comfortable chairs for too long caused an anxious feeling to settle in the pit of her stomach. 

‘block everything out, don’t move around too much, breath slowly and let your heart settle down’

those had always been her older brother’s words of advice when she’d complained about the feeling of drowning in the stifling air of the hospital. she’d been forced into these more than regular checkups ever since she was young so she’s been taught by now to pretend it didn’t bother her at all. every time her heart seemed too erratic, seemed like it skipped too many beats or any time she mentioned even the slightest sense of pain eira would find herself in one of the many examination rooms in her father’s hospital. it became as much of a practiced routine as any of her dance sequences and every single time it always played out the same way and so she coped with it in the same way. dive headfirst into the sounds of the only thing that could make her simultaneously calm enough to steady her heart-rate but distracted enough to forget her surroundings.

headphones are in her ears, the music playing some classical piece that even she can’t recall the name of out of the thousands she’d put into her one hospital waiting room playlist. fingers tapping along the arm seat to the melody, eira allows herself to be consumed by the world of her own design, mapping out the movements and steps that could coexist with the song that’s playing. it’s enough to keep her mind off of the sick feeling of grieving or anxiety that threatens to eat at her thoughts. she sits, oblivious to the people around her as she usually is, with her gaze jumping from corner to corner until they settle on someone elses. the boy opposite her is vaguely familiar in a way she hadn’t expected a stranger to be. she wonders if she’s seen him before at the hospital or if they’ve spoken at all. once she realises his mouth is moving, forming words she can’t properly hear, the ballerina startles, tugging an earphone out of her ears as her eyes widen guiltily. it seemed he had said something important or serious with the half uneasy and half irate look she could see in his own eyes. “i’m sorry, where you talking to me?”

[eiraws]

2!

( 🦢 ) 𝐍𝐎. 𝟏, 𝐎𝐏. 𝟐  — 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 /𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘯 ?

[ wc : 283 ]

the answer to this question is an obvious one. not a single doubt swims in eira’s mind as her answer comes to her as quickly as her heart beats. and its with a clear lack of doubt and such a finality with which she speaks, without a trace of hesitation, the words: "i'd have been a ballerina". there truly couldn't have been anything else in the cards for her, as the world of dance had been ingrained in her since the day she could walk. a life of dance was the only life she’d ever known and it is the sole source of her passion and her talents and if ever there existed a universe in which eira did not dance, then it was truly no real universe at all. the idol path hadn’t even been something she’d foreseen for herself, not until just two years prior when she’d made the decision to leave her ballet career in the dust. she knows that surely if she hadn’t made that choice, she’d still be doing that today; twirling, pirouette after pirouette on a stage illuminated by spotlights nowhere near as bright as the ones she’d found herself under during the recent promotions of her group’s debut. just a few weeks ago, to even think back on what could have been had caused her much more grief than anything else but for some reason now, it brings nothing but a feeling of contentment, if only for a moment. for once, it appears to eira that she’s made the right decision for herself. she hasn’t felt truly lonely in quite some time, not like she had been when all her days were spent in pointe shoes. 

[eiraws]

karina x CLIO - atelier in hannam

[eiraws]

Aiskhylos, from An Oresteia: Agamemnon (tr. Anne Carson)

[eiraws]

  𝑻𝑯𝑬     𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴     𝑺𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬    ⊹     𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗜   :   INSOMNIA.

❛  　 🦢 　  𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏  　 𝗺𝗲  　𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵  　𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘴          　      —-　   𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗻   　𝗺𝘆  　𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗　  𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙  　 ❞

                                                                                                 /    𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾 .

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐎　 .　 𝐈　 (　 D　 ♭　 major　 )

jeon    eunha   was   a   girl   who   had   feared   monsters   ;

        　   the   ones   living   under   her   bed   as   a   child   .   .   .   creeping   into   her   dreams   under   the   guise   of  butterflies   with   lilac   wings   or   knights   in   shining   armour .     their   voices   -—   a   cacophony   of   birdsongs   -—    were   evergreen  and    divine    and     pacifying  ,  but   their   shadows   haunted   her   to   the   very   corners   of   her   mind,   spinning   innocent   fairy   tales   into   unspeakable   horrors.

so,   like   any   princess  from   her   beloved   tales   would,   the   young   girl   lurches   from   her   sleep   with   blood-curdling   screams,   her   eyes   red-rimmed   and   lachrymose.    but   when   she   wakes   it   is   not   a   mother’s   consoling   hand   that   runs   through   her   hair;   rather   it   was   always   her   father,   who   would   drop   anything   in   a   second   for   his   daughter,   who   is   by   her   side   before   the   first   tear   dries   upon   her   face.   a   young   eunha   had   always   appreciated   this   fact,   loved   him   for   it   even   if   a   tiny   part   of   herself   felt   empty   every   time   she   opened   her   eyes   to   see   him   and   not   her  mother  whose   love   she’s   never   felt   in   any   capacity   anywhere   but   in   her   dreams. her   father,   usually   too   busy   for   his   sons   and   for   anything   but   his   work,   would   steal   the   stars   to   save   his   daughter   from   her   demons.

  but   unbeknownst   to   him,   the   very   one   she   would   become   would   be   far   scarier   than   anything   he’d   ever   saved   her   from.

when   she’d   tell   him   the   details   of   her   morbid   nightmares   -   where   fields   of   monarchs   and   blue   morphos   turned   into   moths   that   feasted   upon   the   gossamer   veil   of   her   dreams   and   where   swan   feathers   signaled   a   blood   bath   as   one   falls   into   a   lake   of   broken   glass   -   he   watches   only   in   languid   horror.   “i   only   want   you   to   see   beautiful   things,”   he’d   always   tell   her,   consoling   her   as   she   cried,   tucked   in   her   bed   of   princess   pink   sheets,   hiding   behind   a   translucent   pixie-dust   coloured   canopy.   he’d   tell   her   that   her   mind   is   merely   playing   tricks   on   her,   that   the   world   is   not   full   of   the   sickening   violence   against   innocence   as   is   in   the   land   of   her   dreams.      he’d   say   that   her   eyes   were   too   fragile   to   see   anything   but   beauty   and   so   whatever   good   the   world   had   to   offer   he   would   bring   it   to   her,   and   whatever   horrors   it   held,   he’d   shield   her   gaze   from   it.   her   eyes   were   her   mother’s   eyes   after   all,   and   jeon   seokwon   would   rather   run   his   prideful   career   to   the   ground   than   witness   any   sadness,   fear   or   loss   in   her   doe-like   gaze.   the   lightness   of   her   youth   fading   from   her   eyes   would   surely   kill   him,   he   thinks.

when   she’d   tell   him   the   details   of   her   morbid   nightmares   -   where   fields   of   monarchs   and   blue   morphos   turned   into   moths   that   feasted   upon   the   gossamer   veil   of   her   dreams   and   where   swan   feathers   signalled   a   blood   bath   as   one   falls   into   a   lake   of   broken   glass   - he   watches   only    in   languid   horror.   “i   only   want   you   to   see   beautiful   things,”   he’d   always   tell   her,   consoling   her   as   she   cried,   tucked   in   her   bed   of   princess   pink   sheets,   hiding   behind   a   translucent   pixie-dust   coloured   canopy.   he’d   tell   her   that   her   mind   is   merely   playing   tricks   on   her,   that   the   world   is   not   full   of   the   sickening   violence   against   innocence   as   is   in   the   land   of   her   dreams.      he’d   say   that   her   eyes   were   too   fragile   to   see   anything   but   beauty   and   so   whatever   good   the   world   had   to   offer   he   would   bring   it   to   her, and   whatever   horrors   it   held,   he’d   shield   her   gaze   from   it.   her   eyes   were   her   mother’s   eyes   after   all,   and   jeon   seokwon   would   rather   run   his   prideful   career   to   the   ground   than   witness   any   sadness,   fear   or   loss   in   her   doe-like   gaze.   the   lightness   of   her   youth   fading   from   her   eyes   would   surely   kill   him,   he   thinks.

       “i   want   to   give   you   beautiful   things.”

and   he   does.   when   she   asks   for   the    sun,  the    moon,    and   the     stars ,   he   offers   them   to   her   in   his   hands.   gwyneira   jeon   would   never   know   a   life   of   need   when   everything   she   ever   wanted   was   at   her   fingertips   the   moment   her   fathers   hears   it.   even   now,   the   ballerina   will   never   forget   the   room   of   childhood   with   its   own   universe   spirally   across   the   ceilings   and   the   walls.   the   chandelier   in   her   room   when   she   was   six   reminded   her   of   a   child’s   crib   mobile   except   much   larger   and   more   extravagant.   hanging   from   its   silver   and   gold   limbs   were   glass   prisms   that   captured   the   light   spilling   from   her   wide   windows   and   in   the   centre   was   a   diamond   sun   that   the   girl   used   to   love   trying   and   failing   to   jump   from   her   bed   towards   to   grab   in   her   little   hands.   in   the   dark   of   the   night,   when   she’d   cower   in   fear   of   the   night-crawlers   in   her   head,   the   mounted   the   mounted   lamps   in   her   room   would   glow   in   crescent   shaped   streams   of   light,   casting   the   moon’s   many   phases   across   her   walls.   and   the   stars.   the   stars   were   her   favourite,   every-time   she   shut   off   the   lights,   her   room   instead   would   be   drowned   in   speckles   of   glowing   stars   that   resembled   the   night   sky,   drowning   her   little   body.  

and   so   her   room   shone   brightly   every   night,   warding   off   the   monsters,   as   he’d   told   her   it   would.

but   eunha   did   not   sleep.   over   time,   she   was   no   longer   scared   of   what   may   lurk   in   the   shadows,   rather   she   embraces   them   in   her   innocent   naivety,   curiosity   behind   her   once   frightened   eyes.   the   monsters   in   the   dark   become   her   friends   and   they   speak   to   her   in   tongues   no   one   else   but   she   can   understand.   they   spin   for   her   dreams   and   visions   of   greatness   if   only   she   listens   to   their   calling,   if   only   she   dances   for   them   and   she   does.   these   monsters,   the   ones   she   sees   as   tangible,   no   longer   make   her   fear.   rather,   she   is   scared   only   when   she   sees   them   disappear,   when   she   closes   her   eyes   and   is   left   alone   in   the   dark.   even   the   presence   of   a   monster   is   better   than   isolation.   each   of   her   dreams   would   be   consumed   by   an   abyss   of   nothing   when   she   sleeps,   a   chasm   of   loneliness,   and   the   monster’s   no   longer   scare   her   as   much   as   her   own   mind   does.   it   is   then   that   the   nightmares   truly   began   and   the   real   monsters   became   nothing   compared   to   the   ones   she   makes   for   herself.   they   plagued   her   sleep   with   subtle   hints   of   ceremonious   disaster,   squeezing   from   her   lungs   the   very   essence   of   her   being   because   she   knows   it   is   her   that   had   called   for   them.   they   don’t   have   scary   faces,   they   have   no   faces   at   all,   but   when   they   speak   to   her   they   speak   of   her   failures   and   her   flaws   until   she   no   longer   wants   to   close   her   eyes   for   fear   she   would   see   them.

and   so   she   tries   to   no   longer   sleep   at   night,   rather   sits   peacefully   in   her   bed   recording   every   detail   of   her   visions   in   her   mind,   doing   anything   to   keep   awake   at   all   costs.   as   she   grows   older   the   habit   never   leaves   her   and   she   would   force   sleepless   nights   in   favour   of   dancing,   dancing   until   her   limbs   felt   nothing   but   pain   and   even   more   until   her   pain   felt   like   nothing.   the   récherché   of   music   that   echoes   quietly   in   her   room   tempts   the   lethargy   of   her   bones   and   because   she   wills   it,   she   rarely   ever   gives   in   to   her   tiredness.   she   was   young   when   she   first   stopped   sleeping   properly;   too   afraid   of   her   own   mind,   too   guilty   for   pulling   her   father   from   his   work   and   too   stubborn   to   seek   help,   but....   sometimes,   inevitably,   she’d   find   herself   drifting   off   like   any   person   would.   and   so   she   falls   asleep   despite   her   will   not   to.   she   couldn’t   help   it   or   stop   it,   rather   became   placated   to   its   effect,   bending   to   its   will   so   it   no   longer   frightens   her   as   it   used   to.   what   takes   place   then,   tortures   her   again   and   she   is   rendered   helpless   as   she   watches   the   mess   of   her   mind   unfold   in   front   of   her,   doing   nothing   but   waking   up   again   and   moving   on   as   if   it   doesn’t   haunt   her   like   it   really   does.

what   can   she   do   when   what’s   done   is   already   done   or   perhaps   what’s   gone   is   already   gone?

        NOTHING  .

and    so  ,    gwyneira    is    devoured    by    her    inner    demons.