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yandere-society · 5 years ago

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Obscure Twilight | Second Half

Synopsis: ‘It was that face you saw - those ghastly visions every time you turned to slumber that shook your core. It churned your insides with unbearable anguish until you were a hollow shell of a woman scorned by her family and mocked by her peers. And so you begged her with insanity in your soul. A fragile lady carrying her daughters on her feeble back - “Please Mother. Don’t let me fall asleep.“’

First Half

Pairing: FreddieKruger!Jimin x Female Reader

Genre: Inspired by Nightmare on Elm Street

Word Count: 18K

Admin: @roses-ruby

A/N: Finally It is done! I’m gonna cry. It’s very important that you read the first half before this. Alright two things: The eldest sister’s name has been changed from Idette to Ivette cause I like the other letter better, sorry ‘d’ enthusiasts, and two this was fucking 18k I have no idea if I left smthg out please let me know if you find a mistake! And I skipped work for this so please give me feedback🥺🥺 Okay luvs, enjoy!

Trigger warnings: Yandere, Gore, Horror, Mature, Infidelity, Sexism

You stood in front of the full-length mirror in Ivette’s room, staring at your gray church dress.

Full sleeves, narrowed waist, and a fitted neckline with a simple collar. The cloth was drab and lifeless, though comfortable. And it was slightly loose on your limbs, having been Lilian’s before it was handed down to you. Her dress was now a pretty mauve that she spent days stitching together, frills, ribbons and all. She would snicker at you when you stared at her a second too long as she was all dress up on Sundays. Jealous? She would say, with the most evil glint in her eye.

In return you would scoff, turn away from her like she was spouting nonsense. But what she spoke was not far from a lie. Lilian’s dress was the pretty new thing and you had to wear her old scraps. To church of all places! So yes, perhaps you were envious towards the carnivorous desires you had little to no control over.

“Are you done yet, you weasel?” There it was, what you were expecting since you stepped into this accursed room two minutes ago.

Mother had commanded you to get dressed, to put on your church dress so you could head out into town. You were not exactly fond of the idea, finding the church the last place you wanted to be after Jin’s warning. Though it was never easy telling mother no, she only ever asked you to do so much.

Away from your reflection, you turn on your heel to face the culprit of the sneer.

“Lilian, how lovely of you to be up for once while the sun is out.”

She tsks, “Of course, yet I would rather not see your face so early in the morning.”

You would have snapped back but she already appeared so pathetic in her wrinkled nightgown, her hair messy and fussed and dried drool on the side of her lip. Instead you turn back around and proceeded into fixing yourself up and straightening out any unevenness in your worn-out dress. There was a tear on the right side of the bottom which you were quite embarrassed of. Even though you tried to patch it together, the weak threads of your stitch were becoming undone.

You could feel Lilian glaring at your back with her arms crossed as you ignored her presence.

As you were about to turn to leave, Ivette stepped into the room.

“Mother’s calling for you, gremlin.”

With a scowl of your face, you brush past her. Disregarding the screechy snickering of the two sisters at your expense. Before you left her chamber, she called out to you.

“Because of your nightmares, mother has been worried sick. And just look at Mabel! You have been jeopardizing the health of this family over some ridiculous dreams. Spare an ounce of decency at least.”

You stand there for a while, staring at Mabel’s door right in front of the twin’s entrance. Then, without a word you proceed down the hall and turn into the dining room. Mother stood at the entryway in her simple washed tunic and skirt. A vest on her bosom and a bonnet covering her head. She held a bonnet for you in her hands. And you walked up to her to receive it.

“Thank you, mother.” You say, wearing it over your head. She silently helps you tie up the ribbons. With her face in such proximity, you take notice on how thin her wrists had become. Her hair was graying day by day and her skin was sagging.

Your insides burn in guilt. If it was not for you, she would not be under such stress. It was early in the morning and she’s having to make breakfast, take care of poor sick Mabel, work for 12 hours and then take care of you who should be up on your own feet by now. The twins were right, and you knew that. Although they were just rubbing salt in your wounds you could not blame them for it, not when you had left the wounds exposed to them.

“Mother,” You whisper lowly and she gazes up at you from under her lashes. “I bought you a dress last Christmas. The pretty yellow one with the frills and lace. Quite butter upon bacon it is. How come you have never worn it?”

She smiles at you like you were still five. “That dress is for a special occasion. I cannot just prance around wearing it every other week. It will lose its purpose.”

“And when will that be?”

“Why soon next month, at Lilian’s wedding!”

Right, that was still a planned event.

“I hope poor Mr. MacDonald realizes what a mistake he is making before it is too late.”

“Oh, hush now child.” You mother lightly taps your shoulder. “We should be grateful to God for providing Lilian with such a wonderful future husband. A scholar from Liverpool no less. How blessed she is.”

In irritant, you hide a scoff underneath your tongue as mother pulls the door open. Having Lilian as a member of your family is already a frightening. You cannot imagine the havoc she shall cause at the poor MacDonald’s estate. She was ready to get married as soon as possible and you were ready for her to leave. Lillian had always been a bit of a foozler. It was humorous to imagine her new mother shouting at her for ruining the custard once again.

You accidently laugh out loud.

“Is there something funny?” You mother questions to which you shake your head

With a light-hearted scoff, she opens the front door.

The bright sunlight hits your eyes, prompting you to squint. A cold breeze surrounds you and your legs tremble underneath your dress. With a small brrr escaping your lips, you held up the bottom of your skirt and began to shadow your mother who was already beyond the porch.

The walk was short and uneventful. And you could not be more thankful.

No sudden unwanted surprise or scary gentleman in the street.

Soon enough, the tall gray church was in your sight. Every brick held an ancient appearance, one of hard work and perseverance. The closer you walked to it, the queasier you became. What would happen if mother told the preacher about your dreams? You could not help but wonder. He was a man you knew well enough. After all, you had been acquainted with him since you were a toddler.

Back when he was just a rookie in the clergy, he had been your father’s closest friend. Often, he would spend Christmas or Easter with your family, huddled around the table and praying grace. You thought of him as a kind uncle, someone gentle and mature. Uncle John, you called him. Your father had been the louder of the two friends.

A smile graces your face as you recall the many silly antics they would complete together. Whether it was pranking men with a quid on a string or playing hooky in the governor’s office, they would always get into trouble. Mother would scold father, taking him by the ear her other hand on her hip. The preacher would be off to the side, cringing as he watched his friend be reprimanded.

Then one day he stopped coming over. Right after father’s death. He became more serious, working hard to rise up positions in the clergy, when he at first was more concerned with running off with father than about the ministry. If you could describe it well enough, you would say that the whole town had a shift in personality after father’s death. Or maybe it was that your young and sheltered-self had finally woken up from a sweet reverie to see what a cruel place this world really was. The expansive veil of lace was snatch from up top your head.

You and mother stood right outside the church like you did on Sundays. She stood silently towards the side, finishing a silent prayer while you observe one of the stained-glass windows in the far corner. It was a strange shape, yellow red and white colors which resembled blades that seemed eerily familiar.

As you were narrowing your eyes to concentrate on the odd colors of that glass, you were forced away by mother as she grabs your shoulders and turns you to her. She quickly commences into straightening your bonnet and collar.

“Be on your best behavior, child. We are not just attending mass but speaking with the preacher. A holy man and your father’s old friend. Do not say anything to upset him, do you understand?”

“Yes, mother.” You reply back diligently with a nod.

The preacher of the church was highly respected in the community. His preaching is taken as a command and while the power that came along with speech might have been typical within the male-driven society, he still stood above typical men. There was no casualness with the father, there was no friendship with the ministry – at least not one that you chose. It was them who choose you. Unsparingly, the same went for political figures as well. If the clergy supported a certain cabinet member then so would his whole town. They undoubtedly held a lot of political and communal power, so you understood your mother’s sentiments.

You did not want to do anything that would embarrass her or tarnish her image in this community that already regards you with decisive eyes and hidden remarks.

Mother gives you a long stare without emotion before she pushes open the large heavy door of the church and walks in with you in her trail.

As soon as you entered, you felt a warm breeze surround you which wrapped you up in comfort compared to the chill outside. When you were younger you thought that breeze was God himself. The church was beautiful, not very large like some of the churches you have heard of in the neighboring towns yet still larger compared to most of the houses in your town.

Although miniscule compared to Jin’s.

You walk along the red carpet passing the rows of pews. It was silent, quieter today than most Sunday mornings and you felt ease as you strode closer to the altar following behind your mother who took careful steps.

And there he sat, the head preacher in his long black cassock. There was a presence around him, one of authority and ascendancy. You held your breath in response as he perched on the second row of the oaken pews, with his eyes softly shut and lips parted. Every Sunday you would see him speak on the altar, but now with his face so near you could truly see all his…imperfections. The dents in his skin, the wrinkles underneath his eyes and hairs that grew duller and silver. It reminded you of father…in his last days.

“Father?” Mother spoke softly, snapping you out of your daze

His eyelids opened, and he blinked once in the direction of the altar before turning to us. The man’s intense gaze then fixes on your frail mother. There was a moment of fond surprise before he stood up, the fabric of his dress shifting down, and turns to the both of you. Movements gentle and cautious.

“Helene, it has been years since we have last spoken. How have you been?”

Your mother returns his thoughts and you see a hint of a small smile. Old memories of a better past arising in her mind. “I have been well father. God has blessed us with his mercy, just like you said.”

Mercy of God. Did this mercy of God include the perishable and tarnishing death of an innocent soul? Did it include the countless hours mother, your sisters and you have slaved away cleaning the bums of the rich? Did it include innocent Mabel’s illness?

You clench your fists quietly as Father nods at mother, turning to you afterward.

“This young lady must be ___. My, have you grown so beautiful and sharp by God’s graciousness. Your father would be so proud.”

You met his unwavering regard and sense your mother’s burn a hole into the side of your head in the same moment. Within a second, you suppress every bitter thought – fingers stiff with ache and offer him a smile as well. The taut of your ingenuine lips felt nearly painful.

“Thank you, Father. I feel he would as well.”

Do not say anything to upset him.

There was a pleased aspect in his expression, so you knew you had succeeded.

“What brings you here today, Helene?”

Mother silently breathes through her nose, head facing the ground. She was having a difficult time in arranging the right words. Honestly, she seemed slightly embarrassed as she stood stagnant next to you with her neck bent and shoulders slump. Yet you could not blame her as asking for help from an old friend you have not seen in years would fluster anyone.

With an expulsion of a breath, she faced the preacher once again.

“___...she has been experiencing these terrible night terrors.”

Your body stiffens at her words as her previous embarrassment latches onto you. The father once again turns his eyes away from mother to give you a glance with an eyebrow raised. You wished to be swallowed whole by the ground.

“Night terrors?” The preacher questions in a tone of concern and confusion. You dare not meet his eyes this time.

“Yes, you see…I-” She halts in the middle of her sentence. A realization sparks within her. “___, please tell father what your dreams are about…”

She did not know, she realizes. You did not tell her.

In that moment, you thought of being truthful. Perhaps this man your father trusted really had all the answers to your grievances. He was kind enough to listen to your mother after all.

But Jin’s warning echoed inside your head similar to that of a bad nursery rhyme you could not get rid of.

Do not trust the church.

When you regained concentration on the preacher, you knew that your hesitation did not go unnoticed. He was sharper than you assumed, and you were not the best fibber.

“Go on, child. Do not be afraid, you are in the house of God.”

“Just darkness.” You lie through your solid front teeth, “There is an empty feeling, one of large dread. But I can never see much.”

“She awakens kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs.” Your mother’s soft voice captures your attention and you grab her slightly chill hand with your firm one.

He stares at you for a good minute, just leering into your orbs with an unfathomable expression. “In these dreams…are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

“In that darkness, what do you think is out there that makes you so frightened?”

“The dark itself just frightens me.”

“I see.”

“Father…why do you feel this is happening? I mean she is a good child! She attends mass and she prays every night! Should I perhaps consult a doctor?”

Your eyes leap to your mother as she was again speaking about a doctor. As if you have not seen enough of those quacks in your miserable lifetime.

“I am sure it is nothing.” The preacher pauses for a moment seemingly in thought. “Have you been keeping up your nightly prayers?”

“Most nights. There are days I come home exhausted from the bookkeepers and fall asleep without my knowledge.”

“I strongly advise you to pray every night, child.” He responds sternly and your mother squeezes your hand back. “And if you ever find yourself trapped in the dark again, pray as hard as you are able.”

“Call upon God and he will answer. However, if the problem persists, I will consult with one of our elders.”

Your mother's sigh crushes your heart. The preacher looks at her and moves closer. He places a hand on her shoulder, “Dear Helene, do not fret. Your child is safe in God’s hands.”

You distinctly recall him stating something similar about your father when you were younger.

Dipping your head towards the floor, you mope about in your own mind as your mother thanks the priest for his comforting words. That is, until you notice the sound of something leaking in the near distance. Drip, drip, drip. Each drip came a second after the next. Confused, you raise your head looking around for the cause of that sound.

The church was empty except for you three. It was a serene silence, the colors of the stained glass floating around the chamber.

And there it was in the dark corner of the church, the source of that irritating drip. Your blood ran cold and your heart convulsed. There was something your mother was saying but you could not comprehend – could not register the shock in her words as your gaze was gripped by the putrid scene before you.

There, in the dark shadow of the church stood Adam. He was inflamed and his eyes were hollow, you felt bile rise in your gullet. Adam stood there skinned, his guts exposed to the warm air and what was on him – whatever held him together bled ever so slowly onto the red carpet of the church. A pool of blood surrounded him, one that became larger with each drip. Yet he smiled, barring his uneven teeth at your expense with another sinister, otherworldly smile on his exposed face.

Your jaw numbed as he raised his right hand, the hand wearing the devil’s glove. He raised his right hand and he waved. The blades reflected the lights of the stained glass, red streaks gleamed in the otherwise bleak light.

“___!” You pulled away from the disgusting view by a shout and tug of your hand. The tug was harsh, and you stumbled upon your feet, crashing into your mother. Dazed, you blink and try to control your breathing.

When you are able to pull yourself together, you face the two others with you in the room, to find their horrified eyes staring back at you.

“Mother?” You say to the woman who held her hand as if she had been burned, her rattled posture increasing your adrenalin.

“I told you, you were hurting me. You were crushing my hand, child…”

“Ah…” You breathe, unable to form words. In a swift motion, you look back to where you saw Adam to find nothing there. “Mother, the paper boy!”

“What?”

“The paperboy, th- Adam!” You shout, grabbing her arms, “Has he visited our house today?”

“The paperboy?” She questions back, baffled at your query, “I do not think he has…no.”

“He hasn’t?” You ask, more to yourself as you stare down on the red carpet. “He hasn’t…”

While you stood there with heavy heaves, clinging onto your worried mother with dear life you tried to calm your erratic state, a flare of hot fire bursting through you.

For a moment you had completely forgot that beside you, stood a man of God. A man, suspicious of it all, a lingering stare. A stutter in your words. It was his job to find the sinners, to scorch out the liars and hunt the infidels. He was a man of God after all.

One as powerful as God.

It was near the afternoon hour when you approached your house. Meaning mother would have to leave for work soon. As you enter the house you could feel her grimace, her exhaustion to everything that occurred in the past month, the past hour. She was not even the person who could detach herself from this narrative, not when she was your mother.

“M-mother.” You call out to her, but she does not halt and continues to make her way inside her chamber by the dining room.

She must have not heard me

You wanted to speak to her. To apologize for the scene you caused in front of the preacher yet you did not know what to say.

With an exhale, you walk toward the opposite way and enter the hallway. You were about to open your chamber door when you heard a series of small coughs. Recognizing that tiny voice, your head turns further down the hall. In fatigue, you stretch your neck – back once to relive the ache in your stiff tendons. Then, with a small huff you tread past your door, up to little Mabel’s. Still you heard her sniffle and sneeze, as you stood at the other end of the door with a heavy heart.

“Mabel,” You knock twice, “Could I come in.”

When you recognize the question of your name, you smile, opening the door gently and peering inside. Mabel lies there, rigid on the bed and leering back at you from her position. There were scars of black under her eyes and her lips were thin white. The mark of sickness painted across her ghostly face.

“How are you, sweet child?” You marvel, quietly stepping inside the room

She giggles a bit, before bursting into a fit of coughs again “ahem, you sound like- ahem ahem- mother.”

You smile at the soft beam on her ill face, walking closer to her bed.

“I am sorry that I have not been able to visit for a while now.”

Mabel shakes her head in disagreement, “I know, I understand. I am not upset. Lillian has kept me great company.”

You scoff, “Well that makes one of us.” Prompting her to laugh once more. For a moment you just stare at her, enjoying the way her expression crinkles when she was happy. When she was just a normal child, not an ill one.

“Raccoon eyes. Looks like someone’s been skipping out on their share of sleep.” You tease to which she grins bright toothed

“Have not! I have been resting very well thank you…”

She goes quiet after cheerfully stating that and your eyebrows furrow in worry.

“Is something the matter?”

“Have you been sleeping soundly, sister?” She states without emotion

You pause, giving her a tilt of the head

“What do you mean?”

“I hear you, you know. I hear your screams when you wake up…and I get terribly scared.”

“Oh no, Mabel,” You rush up to her, sitting on the side of her mattress as her body cowered under the covers, “Why do you get scared?”

“Because you sound like you are in pain…you sound so troubled, I do not want you to be that way…” She whispers the last part and your frown grows at her concern. This is not what you wanted in the slightest. Her illness is already taking a toll on her

“Do not worry abo-”

You were interrupted with a loud bang in the room, startling you as you whirl towards where it resided from. It was Ivette, who had slammed the door wide open with her foot as she carried fresh sheets in her arms.

“Do you have to be so loud?” You scowled

She just scoffed, made her way to the nightstand and placed the sheets by the side.

“Unlike you, I am trying to take care of Mabel best I know how.”

“Oh, so unwittingly like with everything else.”

She clenches her teeth as she turns to you “Shut your mouth, you rotten gibface.”

Spitting on you with each syllable, she stomps towards the entrance before leaving out the door. Slamming it shut, of course.

“What a ratbag,” You sneer

Mabel shifts in bed until she places a palm on your hand sitting on top of the bed. You turn back to her in surprise.

“N-no, she only acts like that because she does not understand her own feelings. She worries for you a great deal, she even spoke to Lillian about saving her money to find you a doctor somehow.”

Her words shock you. Ivette was trying to aid you?

“Well a star queller she is.” You chirp to which Mabel once again breaks out into a giggle

“And Mabel,” You speak quieter, fingers intertwining with hers, “Do not worry about me, alright? That is my job. I will never let any harm come to you...not like what I saw with father. Alright?”

She nods, meekly, “I just want you to be safe. Always.”

“I will, I promise.”

He wrote with a steady hand in his rustic journal. Alone again in the late hours of the lonely night, with nothing but his oil lamp illuminating up his desk to keep him accompanied. It was not much but ramblings of vague ideas he wrote all jumbled together in a mess of blotchy black ink. You had always scolded him of his messy handwriting. Back when you were both young brats sitting fussy in your mansion’s lounge while Ms. Baker taught you your new lesson. To now, when you catch glimpses of it and his never-ending duties to the damned while you peer over his shoulder.

He smiles at the thought of you, he always smiles.

And though he sat lax in his leather chair, placed so close to the desk as if to confine him to something – probably reality, his mind soared with tension. The situation had gotten worse, Russian and England ties grew weaker by the second and war was imminent. To his great despair he had been the only member in the governor’s cabinet to vote nay on the deployment of young men from their town. Lackeys, the lot of them.

There they sat at the large ivory round table, most of the men pushing their chairs back to make room for their hefty bellies as children of the unfortunate starved on the street. It had him fuming, the way they would sit straight as a cock in front of the Earl. Each one laughing brasher than necessary when his majesty spoke about one of the whores he bedded that week. Jin found nothing amusing in his derogatory remarks or the way he uttered slurs every time he referred to the underprivileged.

It had been that way since he was a young boy just growing into his adult trousers when he first began accompanying his father to their assemblies. There was never anything he had in common with the cabinet members nor their children. He did not consider them up to par with his intelligence, his philosophies or even his handsome face.

Every son would accompany their father like an additional hand for the men to boast about. Not one of them caught his attention, even though the lads tried their best to befriend the governor’s oldest servant’s oldest son. Jin was passive to their clingy behavior, disinterested in these half-hour gentlemen that would slip as soon as their fathers turned their eyes. It came of no surprise that Jin excelled the others in everything and he took great pride in that. Because SeokJin, himself was raised to be perfect, Sir Kim made sure he instilled that idea in the deepest corners of his brain. He was conditioned, to sit up straight, to not talk back, to be the smartest, the wittiest. To act like he placed more gold in just his nightstand than most commoners had teeth. And who was young, fragile Jin to decline the flog that rested in the seniors crossed arms?

Sir Kim’s rules were simple:

Speak without being spoken to or talk back in a conversation with an elder, 50 floggings.

Become short-handed in your studies, 100 floggings.

Dismiss any order Sir Kim had given, 300 floggings.

Since the back of his thighs were still crippled from the thousands of hits he earned as a child, and his gait was still slightly limped and slower than his peers, he learnt to never speak up at those meetings. Never uttered more than a sentence or raised his voice, although he felt the words claw themselves up his throat. He held them back with tightly shut lips and a bare red face. Because there sat his father by his left hand, eyes only on the price that was the governor’s seat. Ready to smash his son’s knees in if he spoke out.

All that was left for him in those meetings was regret. Regret that he could not stop them from taxing the poor for just living. Regret that he could not say much as they stripped away respect from women, from mothers and sisters, from humans. Regret that he was just a lackey, a flunky that bet on illegal games or hunted living creatures for trophy when his father commanded. One who bribed the ministry members to complete their bidding when asked.

And if he was recalling upon regrets, how could he forget the one moment he regrets the utmost in his life?

Suddenly, there was a tapping.

His head snaps up into the darkness. The tapping sounding like it resided by his chamber’s entrance. It was pitch black and he could not even make out the doorway. The lamp that illuminated his workspace only further fed the shadows of the world outside and his studious mind compared the dark, austere obscurities to the ignorance a human awakens by lighting only the small area he deems necessary. There he sat, alone with nothing but his lamp to keep him company.

“Hello?”

…

Silence

When he ponders in it, what was it that he did before he began scribbling nonsense into his journal? Where was he before this? Though he furrows his thick eyebrows in concentration, he cannot for the life of him remember his whereabouts before this very moment.

His eyes travel back to the thick pages of his journal and for a moment he feels frightened. The ink. The once midnight black ink had now transformed into a deep dark red. His fountain ink seeped droplets of the red ink slowly onto the timbered pages as he hovered his hand above his journal.

As he realized the leak, he let go of his pen and stood up immediately.

Was it an illusion of the light? Was he perhaps too sleepy for this nightly scribbling? There was something wrong, something he could not pinpoint but the whole chamber was wrong. The shadows that confined him swam in hostility, drowning out even his masculine figure. With the urge of suffocation upon him, he quickly leapt towards one of the windows with his memory guiding him.

He flung open the curtains and sighed in relief at the sight of the moon. It gave his otherwise anxious and lonely presence great comfort. Thus, he gazed upon it for a while, letting his warm face bask in the pale light. As he stared up into the foggy atmosphere, he mindlessly rubbed the curtain’s fabric between his thumb and index finger.

The young man shifts his eyes to the fabric, its texture so velvety and smooth. This must be what your skin would feel like, supple and tender. He stares at the red drapes, mind wandering off once again to you. You who wore that red dress on that fateful, miserable day. The day you last smiled genuinely, care-free and unbound to the misery of this retched world.

*taptaptap*

There it was again that despondent sound. Jin swung his head back, once again met with the dark and slightly dusty study. The rapping at his chamber door was rapid, that for someone with great urgency.

He supposed he should be afraid in this very moment. But Jin was not a weak man. Never would he cower to someone who hid in the shadows like a coward.

“Who is it?” He called out. Voice filled with irritation and pride.

Once more, he was met with silence.

His annoyance grew, fed by the very tapping that begun again after a small amount of peace. With a scoff, he grabbed the handle of his oil lamp, approaching the entrance with a vigorous march. In moments he reached the door, grasping the door handle and whipping the hefty door open in one swift thrust.

And should he really have been that surprised to find no one but darkness?

Except when he stepped out into the hallway and faced right, it was not just dark he witnessed, no. There was life right in front of him in the thin white curtains that flew around the hall due to the wind from the unbarred windows. Unbarred windows. Jin felt the crawl of his skin. Who unbarred his windows?

And suddenly it all felt too unearthly, the stillness of the blue night and the crawling of his skin. Even that lifeless moon from before, just too unearthly, like something was not right, like something was horribly terribly wrong. What unsettled Jin the most, a man who was not frightened by small things was the blue hue that entrapped his pupils in its rich, overpowering tint.

Red was the color he preferred. The sky was clear, and the weather was quaint, as he hopped around the back yard, matching the pace of the fluttering butterflies. He heard a small shuffling in the distance and turned around, to find you walking his way. And he saw you wearing it, a red cottoned dress fitted on your small stature when you came over that day.

Jin was a mess of emotions, blushing immediately to his further embarrassment. You strolled your way up to him to play as you usually did. Except this time, he did not return the gesture, just gaped at you in your frilly dress with a huge red ribbon tied around your waist. Under the bright sun, you glowed like an angel. He could not say anything as you giggled at him in confusion. Not even when you perched down to some flower he did not pay attention to, gasping about how beautiful it was.

The only beautiful one was you.

He sauntered down the hall, unaware while passing the paintings that had ripped claw marks where his face should have been. With every step he took, the shadows crawled upon him further and he was woozy. The curtains of sheer silk blew on his face and his body causing him to shiver each time they touched. Still he kept his dignity, walked with his chest held forward and pushed his fear aside like the man his father raised him to be.

Jin had wanted to tell you how beautiful you were, how beautiful you always had been in his eyes. But he did not have it in himself to destroy the friendship he built with you over the years. He was not raised with the manners to show the woman you love respect. Instead he did what every young imprudent child does and lie a great big lie to save his arse.

“I do not like it, your dress.” The 12-year-old him said to you in a serious and annoyingly high-pitched tone, “You do not suit red.”

Surprised, you looked up from the flower and into his orbs with a face full of hurt and God- in that moment he wished to take back every single word he had ever spoken. “Oh…Father told me I looked pretty.”

You did. Beautiful, in fact. Yet he was a mere stupid little boy in the presence of an angel, so he scoffed mockingly.

“When have you ever looked pretty?”

Those were the last words he said before he heard a deafening shout filled with rage from his Father.

It was his name. Someone had spoken his name in the blue twilight. Someone behind him, with a soft fleeting voice. He turns around with speed, holding up his oil lamp to see a figure. Jin has to squint his eyes, look through the shallow sheets that blew around, not sure that it was there or a figment of his imagination.

Yet the more he beheld, the clearer it became. Someone standing in the dark, on the opposite end of the hallway.

In an instant his adrenaline rose, the gears in his brain turning rapidly without him catching up.

“Who are you?” He yelled, at the silent man in the expensive suit, with a hat covering his head.

What a shame that his voice was not as powerful as his father’s. His father who shouted his name from the back porch, causing both kids to turn to him in fright. He stood there with his jaw clenched, shaking in anger that Jin knew of too well. Then he began to march. March towards the small children with tightened fists, stomping on all the flowers in his path.

The figure on the other hand began to laugh, how horrid and conniving this sound was. Like nails across a chalkboard, a sound to shelter your ears from. But he realized that his hands were frozen solid by fear. Fear that a random stranger was laughing manically in his house. This house that has shielded Jin from becoming like that of the lower cast, that has kept the secrets of his abused and neglected childhood, that protected his drawn-on identity.

Jin’s paralyzed condition deteriorated as the mysterious figure began to move. He held up his right hand and the young man’s panic surges at the shiny metal blades on his fingers. The figure had begun to walk in his direction, hovering his arm to the right as he began slicing the floating curtains with ease.

As his father came closer with every heavy stomp, young Jin’s eyes begun to well up. His little arms coming up to cover his head as instinct. He heard you shuffle onto your feet and prayed that his father wouldn’t hurt him here – in front of you.

Soon he would wish that it was him that he did hurt, as he blew past Jin hastily and came up to your trembling form. Jin held his breath as his father passed him by, uncovered his head and spun back. To see his seething father tower over you, who held the skirt of her red dress in her fists.

“What are you doing over here, accursed child?” The large man sneered

What was he doing here? Jin wondered. What could he want, money? Jewels? It did not matter, he could have it all. Humorous, that in this moment, the Jin that spent his lifetime crushing his own ambitions to follow his father’s goodwill had vanished. Instead replaced with the Jin who wanted to stop this war, who wanted to feed the kids of his town and of the world…who sought to just see you in his dejected days before he married to that governor’s daughter.

There were many times before where Jin had despised his father – every time he raised his voice at him or his mother, every time he bed another woman off the streets and his mother would lay in Jin’s bed crying while in holding him to sleep, and every single time he spoke badly about you or your father at the dinner table. But he has never hated him more than in this moment, where father forcibly held up your arm and had you wincing in pain. Soft tears left your eyes while the man yelled in your face.

About you, about your ‘insane’ father, about how you do not belong here, with his beloved son.

He knew of your father’s condition though you refused to mention it. Jin thought of him as a kind man, which is why his sentiments were also hurt to learn of the hallucinations that your dad would see. The whole neighborhood spoke of it, the man your father described. The burnt red man in a black suit with glove of blades in his right hand. But even if your father was ill, small Jin failed to see how this was your fault or why you should suffer the consequences of his father’s insults.

“Do not ever come near my son again! Do you understand me?”

He was frozen. With the laughing manic moving closer to him inch by inch, every slice he made had the sheets falling lifelessly to the hallways floor, and Jin almost laughed at the irony. His mind had surged without thought, trying his best to pry free of this unnatural hold. Jin never thought he was a man who gave up so easily, though in the arched corners of his mind he doubted he could defeat the man who had somehow made him immobile.

“How does thee feel to be the one trapped?”

Jin did not respond – could not respond.

He was frozen, lost in a restless gaze on your tear-filled face. 12-year-old Jin decided right then that he had never wanted to see that face on you once again. That he would do whatever it takes to protect you. However, in that moment he could do nothing but stare in horror as his father berated you.

“Answer me, child!” He roared

With a quick look of helplessness at Jin, you looked back at father “Y-y-y-”

“No.” Jin weakly muttered out as the figure came close

He could see it clearly now, the grotesque face of the villain. The man was seared in burns, his shriveled skin crawling in unnatural sore waves. There were pieces, of what seemed similar to seared skin hanging from the sides of his mold. Yet the freak of nature stood in front of him with a smile – such a sinister smile with his sharp, charred fangs.

Swine! Jin wanted to yell but he was barred. His legs and arms, he could not feel. He could not fight back now…but he never has been able to, has he?

The oil lamp from his sweaty, weakened grasp fell and the glass shattered amongst the floor, instantly encasing the carpet with a roaring fire. He could feel everything, the sweat dripping down his skin, the chilly airs of the autumn wind outside and the way his feet burned as the fire spread. It was a pain like no other, his father could not even come close. Jin wanted to scream in agony, cry with insanity but he was left just glancing at the floor and back to the scarred man.

Then too he burned when your father let go of your harm, only for you to scamper away from his back yard in lightning speed. He watched you go, unable to do and say anything in that moment. There was a drop in his young chest as soon as your figure disappeared. It was that day that kind, innocent SeokJin changed for the worse. When he realized there was no good in this world.

“Do not hang around that child again, do you hear me?” His father’s stern voice once again came to him clearly and he glanced back at the old man.

“Y-Yes father.” The 12-year-old him said without blinking. Without even questioning the crazy bastard or trying to protect the ashes of your dignity.

Without blinking, the stranger displayed his razors to Jin who could no longer concentrate on anything but the melting flesh of his leg. The smell in the room was revolting, the fire eating away the room at a rapid pace. And within a second, the devil pushed the blades inside him, right into the gut, through the stomach. Blood pooled around the five punctured wounds, until the man removed his blades and the red seeped out like water from a pipe.

The scorched man seemed to be in the state of euphoria, throwing his head back and whiffing the sweetly alluring smell of the fire. Then he stared right at Jin, who’s mind had snapped from the unbearable pain and eyes had lost all color.

“Thou were never the man for her.”

Was the last thing Jin heard before he was stabbed again and again and again and again, the man grunting as he pushed his blades deeper and deeper inside Jin’s pudgy flesh. Then it was that he fell to the floor, laying down on his stomach as the scorching fire immediately devoured his body. The man hovered over him and resumed his mighty laugh. He could move now, but there was no where he was in a rush to get to. Jin just wanted to sleep, he wanted the pain to stop, to use the fire searing his skin as a blanket to help him along the way. In its place, his split guts and gashing skin roared at him.

Ah, what a shame. If he thinks back on it, he has lived a sheltered and rich life filled with many regrets.

He regretted not having a closer bond with his younger brother. He regretted every time he shut his lips and held in his anger at those meetings. He regrets pushing himself into miniscule work he was never fond of. He regrets not holding onto his mother’s love tighter and letting her endure everything herself in that lonely summer mansion. He regrets every time he’s gone hunting or turned his cheek to an innocent person in need. He regrets letting his father who would have never gave a damn about him even if Jin pulled out his own heart as an offering dictate his life, his relationships and his happiness.

His biggest regret in life, however, was not telling you how beautiful you appeared - no how beautiful he found you on that day, in that moment, when he realized what his mother had told him about what love feels like and instead, he desperately denied it. He wondered how different his life would have been, if he let you in, if he had not said those hurtful things, if he protected you that day and he destroyed the hold his father had on him. Would you be with him now…and forever?

If he had just told you that yes indeed, how beautiful you were in that red cottoned dress.

If he became that good in the world he so desperately tried to find.

You were working the books, setting one on top of another on the side of a wooden shelf in the front center of the room.

“There are thousands of books left, you know. Be diligent and hurry along.” Scolded the bookkeeper.

Hidden from his sight, you scowled. You had already stacked a thousand and one books but he sat on his arse ungrateful, making bitter remarks at your efforts. It had been a quiet long week, no nightmares as you slept for the first time in a what felt like ages. Mabel too, had seemed to be healing as she was up around the table for breakfast and then again for dinner when you got home.

“I knew I should not have hired you just because that Kim child said to.”

You heard the old man mutter something and peered your head out from behind the shelf. What was it that he just spoke?

Suddenly a crash interrupt you both, one from the front door opening at lightening speed. It was the tall bell boy from the shop next door. Out of breath and uttering rapidly-

“Come quickly, it’s the Kim’s oldest son he’s-

Your mouth was dry, lungs burning as you sprinted full haste towards Jin’s mansion. A couple of onlookers you bump into made noises of their disapproval, but you could care less. There was a crowd at Kim’s estate, people that were not the least bit concerned with Jin’s well-being all gathered up to witness an eye-catching tragedy. It revolted you, people revolted you.

You push through the stiff bodies of the bystanders, until their view comes before you. As you pass the crowd, you trip over onto the dusty path of Ferwin Lane. But It does not matter – none of it matters as your eyes shoot up to the movement in front of the house you cherished with your whole heart. There in the near distance, laid he, the child who you claimed as your dearest friend. The man who took care of you always, no matter how much he acted otherwise. The person who you love so greatly.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

It left you before you could stop it. They all turned to you, everyone in the vicinity, to the wailing women on the floor. His body was covered by a white veil, but through the tarp the nurse men laid him on, his hand fell off. And you could see it, the charcoaled skin, the dying red of the bleeding wounds. Missing fingers. Gray and black and bloody.

Colors skin should never be.

“What are you doing here, miserable wench?!”

You heard the loud growl of Sir Kim, who stood by the porch with his teeth barred and fists clenched. His words echoed the lane and the public held their breath.

“I though I had told you to never see my son again?” He made his way for you but SeokJin’s younger brother held him back, “I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY!”

Tears left your eyes one by one as you stared blankly in his direction. No consensus to fight back.

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT! I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY! SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE? SEE WHAT YOU BROUGHT UPON HIM, YOU AND YOUR ACCURSED FAMILY?!”

You say nothing, for maybe he was right. This was your fault? Your fault your father died? Your fault your eldest brother never saw the light? Your fault Mabel was sick? Your fault mother was exhausted?

He was right.

So, you say nothing, just weeping on the floor as he becomes louder – rowdier and the venom of his words wrap around your throat.

“YOU DID THIS!”

And just maybe, you did.

There was a push on your shoulder in the dark.

Once, then twice.

You sat up with a loud gasp. The first thing you saw was lumber. Stacked upon one another in a fashion you have only seen in your uncle’s house in the countryside. It settled inside you as your conscious grew, you were inside a cabin - a small, cozy, fire-lit cabin. A recognition of terror wallowed inside you, thinking you might be trapped in that nightmare again, but there was something off - something that differed about this dream.

It was as simple as the air. As you inhaled and exhaled, and the air wafted around you, it simply smelled different. And the sounds. When you shuffled underneath a soft thin layer of blankets, your ears tenderly captured the birds chirping so cheerily that even in your subconscious you could tell it was bright outside with the sun slowly peeking over the horizon. There was no blue, no mold, no blood. Not like in any of those dreams.

Those dreams you have been having no matter how hard you prayed every night. The ones where Jin stares at you, burning and charred. Yet you could do nothing but scream.

It all felt strange, your every movement, every breath you took, all the limits of your senses. You felt you, but not you.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that you have been living as a shell of a woman. Trapped inside her chamber all day – trying to forget the man you loved with each ounce of your being. You were torn apart from the inside out.

Sitting on the gentle springs, muddled by your surroundings, the creek of the floors and the slow steps approaching towards you were not your priority in that moment.

“Thou art awake?”

You jolt, but it wasn’t you that jolted you realize.

There, to your right, stood a beautiful man. A man with cat-like eyes, and sharp features. Such plush lips and black strands that fell over his brow. He wore a worn-out tunic, tucked into his black trousers with leather straps around his shoulders. It was such simple fashion – yet so divine. Why, he was as handsome as your beloved Jin.

But why did such an angelic face speak like that monster from your dreams?

“S-sir?” That sounded much like you, but you did not say that. Not when you were stunned by the man’s beauty.

“Art thee not restful these days?”

“I apologize sir, for I cannot recall wherefore I am here?”

He tilts his head, “Thee did faint outside mine own shop. I bought thee home- m-mine own home.”

“Ah,” Your person moves about, “I see...I thank thee.”

This was not you speaking, even though you could physically feel the words leave your mouth. You were a mere bystander, watching through the lens of your own eyes. It was not you who unwittingly trembled in bed, your heart erratic and face burning. It was not you who felt heavily attracted to the man before you.

“Are thee good now?” He asks softly and you look back up to see the concern in his eyes. This is how you felt when you saw the concern in Jin’s. “Wherefore were thee out alone?”

“Y-No-Yes, Yes, I am quite.” You stumble out, “I just…I s-should-”

As you say that, you remove the blankets off you. Your dress was expensive, tailored just for you in the color of the sky. But when you move your foot towards the wooden floor, a wave of painful shock pierces through leaving you to whine out loud.

The man is beside you in an instant, holding onto your shoulders as he lays you back down while you whimper.

“Art thee sure thou art good now?” He shouts, frantic

“Y-yes..I...” You struggle to get the words out as the pain dims inside you. What was happening?

All you could do was feel further confusion and unsettled as tears began to prick the corners of your eyes.

“I am sorry, I cannot...I can-” You were crying. This was the one thing that did not feel foreign to you, as you have been repeating it all week...lying dead in your room. Refusing to sleep. Yet today it was that you lost yourself in a murky haze, let your mind wander off to the otherworld as pure exhaustion bore you down.

But why was whoever you embodied crying? Why could you feel every ounce of her horrible pain flow through you? Whatever she was dealing with hurt so much. It all hurt actually, your arms and legs, your shoulders and the back of your head. Your stomach.

You were surprised when you felt warm, calloused hands on your cheeks, gently wiping your tears away.

“I want to know.” He speaks slowly, softly, perched on the side of the bed. “I want know to more about thee...What troubles thee, bid me.”

His gaze was so intense, you felt yourself blush again. The previous ache numbing the more you lost yourself in his orbs.

“Do thou have dreams?” You ask the handsome stranger

“Hmm?”

“Dreams...where thou art in another world...another life...someone else, someone better...do thee have them...dreams?”

The man stares at you in confusion before looking to the burning fireplace.

“I do not dream. I like who I am and my life.” He states, “Haply I dream about wearing an expensive suit, expensive shoes and a coxcomb at times, but those art mere desires. My father wast a hardworking sir...he raised me alone. Left me his shop and did teach me the way of steel.”

He chuckles then, delicately. His smile was beautiful. “Folks say yond I am a fool. Yond being a blacksmith is a futile ambition and yond I shalt give my life to fruitless, hard labor. But tis honest work. I do not did hurt anyone, I do not did overstep mine own boundaries. I like it.”

The man turns back then, watching you again. “Like this cabin. T is bawbling, not nourished with embellishments such as yours. But I built it myself and I take pride in every nook and corner.”

His cabin was filled with wood and steel. Warmth and comfort were spoken within the walls. Minor furnishments, handstitched rugs, rosy curtains. There was a fireplace on the right wall by the entrance door. One that held a held a familiar glove, covered with what seemed like soil and weeds above the mantel. But you had no time to digress for your person paid it no mind.

“Is yond wherefore thee hath moved out here, at which hour those gents couldst not understand thee?” Your voice is low, mind fully awake

“I was at each moment someone that preferred to beest alone,” The stranger once again looks ahead, this time out the window to the right of where you laid, “Here, in the forest outside the town, I am free to beest who I want. And there is something magical about the night in this forest. There is something haunting about the obscure blue twilight when the first ray of sun hits the creek.”

There was a distance gaze in his eye, one you were enamored with. One that raises the rhythm of your heart as he glances back at you. He smiled then, his face asking if he answered your question.

“I dream every moment I can.” You mutter and his smile slightly dims. Turning your head forward, you stare at the timbered roof, the lines of wood sturdy and stark.

“I am with child.”

A moment of silence lingers the walls of the cabin, shock from your own words hushing both you and the man before you.

You shut your lids then, as pain returns in full force. And it was all specific, you could feel it scourging through you. There were sore bruises on your arms and legs. Discomfort from someone hitting you in the head and stomach. Again, there was a leak in your eyes.

“I do not want...his child…I do not want it.”

“He is thy husband.”

Opening your lids, you turn to the kind stranger with fury in your bones. He seemed to have noticed your anger, slightly backing away from your glare as you clench your jaw.

“He is a monster.”

“I am sorry…”

Suddenly your limp fingers feel a warm fluttery touch and you see his hand, laying against yours securely. You see the regret swirling in his eyes, and you feel sorry, lowering yours elsewhere.

“What do thou dream of?” He asks cautiously

Sighing deeply, you shift with your back resting against the bed. His fingers softly rubbing your skin making your toes underneath the blanket curl.

“I-I dream about a lot. What mine own life wouldst have been like if it be true I defied mine own mother’s proposal for the rich stranger. If it be true mine own husband was not married to the weapons upon his mure. If I were to say, love- beest betrothed to another sir.” You meet his eyes, “A better sir.”

“Is there such a sir in thy mind?” He spoke in such a hush that you wonder if he even said those words

“There is,” You respond in a similar tone, “A sir who works for my husband...who I catch glimpses of which hour mine own luck allows. That gent is at each moment bellowing on metal, I see the shards of fire more than I see his eyes. But that gent is so gentle- so gentle with such rough stone yond I cannot help but to imagine how he must hold a mistress-”

You hear him exhale sharply as his grip tightens stirring a foreign sensation in your gut

“I...I just I...He is such a mystery, residing hence from our town. And people gossip about that sir, about how careless that gent is. But I know yond they are daws. For he is liberated and so I dream of him. Of becoming like him. Of him holding me...of touching me in places my husband has never been…” You stop for a moment to collect yourself, “Which is wherefore I was wandering outside his shop, like a hopeless daw. To haply catch a glimpse of him who I dream of.”

“I dream of him, but he does not dream at all.”

Silence follows your short speech, the atmosphere too thick to swallow. All that cuts through the silence is the breathing of the man.

“Perhaps,” He says carefully, “Perhaps this sir...who does not dream...wants the mistress too. The mistress who at each moment is lost in her own world when she visits his shop with her husband stuck to her side. Perhaps...although she could not see his eyes often, he watches hers the whole time she lingers. Wanting to hold her too, as if it be true she were his most precious stone.”

With his words that feeling in the pit of your stomach grows. You lay there, paralyzed by your body as your insides clench around nothing. He moves forward then, bending towards you as you watch as stiff as a board. His breath fans across your face and his eyes dance with yours.

“S-sir.” You squeak

“Jimin,” He replies, before he is upon you.

In that moment, when you breathe into his mouth and your skin raises with bumps, you wish to bathe underneath the sunlight forever, protected by its sparkle and radiance. If only the sun stayed up forever.

Your eyes open with the call of your name in the distance. It was less urgent and less passionate then Jimin’s, but you reluctantly oblige.

The face of your mother startles you.

“M-mother?” You say, eyes wandering around to your surroundings. It was your room. Your dresser, your window. There was no fireplace and no lumber. You were you again.

“You best get up child. I understand how important SeokJin was to you, I felt the same. But if you were to miss another day of wo-”

She removes the covers that were clinging to your neck off your body and halts. You watch as her eyes fill with pure terror.

“Mother?” You say again, pushing yourself up by the elbows.

That is when you notice it. Your completely naked torso.

As you register reality, your jaw slacks when you see yourself. Your exposed skin, littered with marks-purple, blue, red in places you were too shy to speak of. Then there was a substance, all over you. Over your breasts and your thighs, and your…your womanhood.

Shaking, you meet the orbs of your petrified mother who was trembling herself, gripping the white sheet in her hand. There was an expression on her features you have never seen before, but it terrified you.

“M-moth-”

“WHORE!”

You gasp at the strength of her voice, enough to let the whole neighborhood know. Immediately you began to cry.

“No, no I-”

“WHORE!” She screamed again, grabbing your arm with such force as her nails dug into your skin

“No, please no!” You cry as she pulls you, dragging you off the bed with both arms.

“YOU DIRTY WENCH! Who did you bed last night?!” She yells, voice like the devil as you shake your head feverously

“I did no- ow please mother!”

She pulls you to the hallway, where you see the twins and Mabel standing in front of their entrances, still in their nightgowns. Their faces morph from concern into shock and disbelief as they eye your vulnerable form. The embarrassment suffocates you as you hear your mother began to cry herself.

“Mother please listen to me! I-it is not as you think, please!” You shout as she drags you to the staircase and tugs you up. She does not listen to you as she beats her chest with her fist, crying hysterically.

“You disgraced me! Your family! How could you have done this? You are no different from the night women that litter the street!”

You follow her up the steps on clumsy feet, desperately muttering ‘no’s’ and ‘please’ as she pulls you to the attic door. She takes out a key from her skirt, unlocking the door as you beg her, plead with her not to.

Without a second thought she tosses you inside. You fall on your arse and she slams the door shut. In the next second you hear it lock as you get up and rush for the handle. Screaming and crying, you try to pull it open as you pound your fist against the heavy wooden door.

“MOTHER, PLEASE! LET ME OUT!”

“Let you out?” You hear her growl from the other side, “I will never let you step outside again! And any one of you that does, will have to answer to me!”

You could tell those words were directed to your siblings.

She stomps away as you cry, the wood creaking along with her. Falling onto your knees you whimper as your fist weakly thumps against the door, futilely.

You never wanted to sleep again.

“Lillian…Lillian…”

She fluttered her eyes

“Wake up Lillian, come to me…”

Laggardly she sat up, rubbing her eyes in the pitch-black of her chamber. Something had called out to her she was sure of it. Or was she dreaming. In a sleepy haze, she turns to her sister who slept soundly in the bed next to hers. A nightstand separated their beds, and she reached over it to find her paper box of matches.

But before she could, the voice called out to her again. More urgently this time.

“Lillian, come meet me! I do not have much time.”

“…William?” She called out in the dark

When she failed to receive an answer, she became anxious. What was going on? Why was William calling to her in the middle of the night?

Hesitantly, she pulled the covers off her body, gently placing her feet onto the cemented floor. The frigid, barren foyer ran a chill down her spine as she got up on her legs, placing her hands on her arms to rub warmth into her figure. Then she began to tread, in the blue gloomy haze, towards her chamber door.

But she stopped and turned. Headed for the dresser and pulled off her nightgown. Slowly she pulled open her dresser door and ran her fingers amongst the hung fabrics, to find her pretty purple gown. Grabbing it off the dressing, she swiftly wore her mauve dress, wanting to look as pretty as it made her feel. It was surreal even to her, she moved like a puppet – as if someone pulled strings for her every action.

Before her mind could recognize, she strode towards the door, dragging it open as it creaked and stepped into the hallway. It was dark, her house swam in the molded black and blue

She took careful uneven steps an she ventured further into the hallway. Soon, she arrived at the dining room and let her gaze wander to the dead house, the timber that laid bare, bent aberrantly and the overwhelming silence that surrounded her shoulders. It was then that she felt unnerved, a bit too vulnerable behind her own walls.

“Lillian!” Came the voice, a bit louder now

Immediately her eyes shot up to the source of the sound. A man who stood by the hall above the stairs. A man who she recognized too well.

“Oh, William!” She whisper-shouted, running towards the staircase, slowing her pace on the steps as the creeks would otherwise wake her mother.

Lillian halted on the last step, looking at William who stood 2 feet away with a small smile on his lips. He opened his arms and that was all it took for her to run up to him and into them. William encased her into his chest, and she whimpered at the contact.

It had been too long, her and her fiancé

“William,” She spoke muffled into his ribs, “What ever are you doing here? How did you get in?”

He did not answer her, instead just rocking her back and forth in silence. For now, she just reveled in it, the lull of the blue house and his sturdy arms. Strangely though, no matter how hard she concentrated, she could not hear the steady beat of his heart. She heard nothing at all in fact through his chest, nothing at all.

“Oh William, you do not know of the dire times we have been challenged with. Mother is tired, Mabel is terribly ill, a chuckaboo from our childhood died terribly and ___. That wretched ___ committed such a foul sin. She bed-…”

“It does not matter,” Lillian sighs against his chest, “She is my sister and I will pray for her…would you pray as well, dear William?”

He does not answer her; thus, she moves back confused at first before she beheld his eyes. Forgetting all her mild concerns.

“My love?” She whispered to the man with a shadow on his face, “Why are you so sad?”

There was hesitation. One of surprise in his rich, dark orbs. Before it vanished, into the depth of the night.

“Dear Lillian.” He uttered back as she tilted her head. With gentle fingers he moved the strands of her hair back, they felt warmer than usual and Lillian shut her eyes to repress a shudder.

And it was then that in a soft swift motion he wrapped his hands around her throat, Lillian’s eyes slamming open when she felt blades lick her fragile neck.

“You shouldn’t have come”

You were dozing off, no matter how hard you tried to fight against it. Laying there on the hard wood floor, completely bare and vulnerable. The attic was filled with dust and had not been touched in ages and sadly you now knew why. It was filled with boxes of father’s memories. His portraits, the one’s where you could not find his dear smile, ones where mother was younger, prettier and ones where you all sat together in the furthest corners of the room. Letter and documents, he filled to the brim with material you could not understand, yet as the only minor window let sunlight into the attic, you would pass your time reading through them. There were even small pictures of scribbles he drew that had you laughing.

It had been three days. Three days since your mother locked you in here, not even offering you a blanket or cloth to protect your decency. She would march upstairs at times throughout the day. The whiny creek of the stairs announcing her arrival.

Then she would arrive at your chamber, unlocking your door and as swiftly as she could she would set down a bowl of porridge and one of water. And like that, she would leave as fast as she came, not even sparing you a glance. She even placed a chamber pot in front of your door, one that reeked because she had not cleaned it out.

You dared not to speak to her, frightened that she might react like she did when she discovered your naked torso three days ago. Although you tried not to, you could not help but cry at the oddest times of the day. It did more harm than good, as the dust would stick to your tears and further irritate your eyes.

Your condition was at its worst. The hard floor you laid on pierced through your soft muscles, straining them until they were sore and ironically you missed your stiff bed. It had become very cold in the late nights, and you would shiver uncovered, tightly holding your torso close to your heart. Time, you realized moves slower when you are counting it, fleeting only when you turn your head from it. What was there to do but to spend your time reading incomprehensible letters or cry over the memories of your father and Jin. Not a day went by that made his loss hurt any less. Every day you wished to go to him, to run into his arms and hear him banter about his good looks. You knew you would feel this gaping hole in your chest in place of him forever.

At times, in the middle of the night when you just stared off into the heavens, his corpse would appear before you. The charcoaled flesh, blazing spots of gore and his once beautiful and warm hand, now a gray limb of peeling flesh and bone. Other times, you would see him again…Jimin. For some reason you still found yourself remembering him, his lips, his skin. How good it felt for a moment to be in his arms and forget about everyone else. Think of nothing but his eyes as he pushed into you so delicately. Those nights you wish the earth would show you mercy by swallowing you whole. For you were a lustful sinner.

Today you laid there, with not an ounce of vitality in your body wishing for death so your sore back could find some comfort. You had not bathed in a while now, and you hated the stench of your own figure. All you desired was death as you laid with father’s portrait held amongst your bare bosom.

There was a scream.

In an instant you shot up, wincing shortly afterward at your immobile joints. With the least bit of adrenaline in your body, you pushed yourself off the wooden floor limping towards the door. You had expected to jangle the locked doorknob and call out for mother, but as soon as you turned the handle, it pushed open with ease.

Confused, you stand there for a good minute, hand tightly gripping the door knob until you hear shrieks and cries from the floor below. With no time to waste, you walk out the door into the hallway by the stairs and peek over the rails.

You wished you hadn’t.

Right beside the dining table wrapped in the blood-stained arms of your oldest sister, was the beheaded body of a girl who wore the familiar mauve dress. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, lung no longer wanting to function properly, and you were not sure whether the wetness between your thighs was the start of your monthly time or you lost control of your bladder. None of it mattered as you watched in utter horror at the wails that left Ivette as she clutched onto Lillian’s lifeless – headless figure.

“No,no,no,no,no.” Ivette chanted, crying her eyes out as she rocked Lillian’s torso back and forth.

Your mother was on the ground beside her, holding Lillian’s hand in hers. There was no expression on her face as she stared off into the distance. Occasionally she would make a humming sound, which you recognized as a lullaby she sang to you when you were a child.

And Mabel, young innocent Mabel stood by the inner room’s hallway entrance. Her small, weak form in tremors as tears left her eyes in a constant rate.

You on the other hand had not noticed the tears falling out of your eyes until they landed on your feet. When you look down, you yelp. Surrounding your sole was a pool of blood that dripped down the rails. Your bottom lip quivers as you look around the hallway’s wooden floor seeped with gallons of diluted red. Each time you moved, you could feel the sensation of wet gore stuck to the bottoms of your feet.

Bewildered and frightened beyond repair, you drop the portrait you held onto. The frame tore into a million shards as you tried to grab onto the corners of your slipping sanity. When you were able to calm yourself the slightest, you look back downstairs, almost falling into the sea of blood at the sight before you.

While your mother and Mabel remained in the same condition, Ivette had stopped crying. She was now staring directly at you, her orbs darker and more pulled than you thought humanly possible. Her arms still tightly secure on Lillian, she sat there, eerily still and unblinking, glaring at you from her spot below. Her eyes were wild, and you had never been more afraid, not even in your dreams.

She did not move. She did not blink. She did not look away.

There was nothing special she was doing, but it felt like she was telling you something with the way her eyes – wide and livid observed your figure.

You felt doom upon you.

The wind blew languidly with not a sign of another life in the near distance.

You stood motionless, staring at the rich brown dirt of the freshly dug grave that held a part of you. Beside you, to the right stood Mabel, her eyes gaunt and unresponsive. To your left was your mother, as quiet as a lamb. And beside her, stood the weeping Ivette.

Sobs and whimpers poured from her mouth as she stood on the safe patch of grass with the rest of her family. The graveyard was a sunken, spread out piece of land, on the far west down your street. Nothing felt correct today, not when you watched Lillian’s headless body, wrapped around the neck with table cloth be placed into the coffin. They were robust and silent, the gravediggers. Never spoke a word or gave an extra glance and you pondered, how many men and women – how many children they have had to dig graves for. No one ever found her head.

Mother did not wait. Not for your neighbors, not for her own relatives. She did not want to display her headless child to the world, and she did not want anyone to remind her, with insincere pity in their eyes that whatever happened to her child – was that of such severity. Your heart hurt when you saw her this morning, you did not expect her to wear black so quickly again.

Ivette was the worst of you all. Lillian was the other half of her and the way she gaited, it was as if she was travelling to the edge of a cliff expecting to fall every second. Contrary to the scare you had a few days ago, she did not utter a word to you, no one did. It was as if the remaining three members had acquired a new language, hidden from you at all cost. Through their secret form of communication, you would sometimes catch glimpses of what you thought was scrutiny.

How did she unlock that door? They were all wondering. And you wished you had an answer.

It was safe to say you had not slept. Therefore as you stood there, your body crawled with ache and you kept trembling, trying to be still. Be demure to pay your respects as your family stood around you. As your jittery limbs failed to stay motionless, you accidently bumped into mother’s arm. Immediately she winced under her breath, moving away from you a tad, and you turned to her. Did she not want to touch you?

You beheld your mother, not noticing Ivette to the left of her, who stood like a tree, rotten and infected from the inside just sobbing her heart out.

In her heart rung that infectious laugh of her minutes younger sister. The giggle she presented when they would chase father around the yard, the chuckle as they gossiped about one of their new admirers or the snicker she offered as they teased you. As she was staring at that ruddy brown dirt, she felt herself getting lost in memories. Memories where Lillian called out to her.

“Ivette.”

Yet-

“Ivette!”

The sounds were not just coming from her heart. Distant, but nearby…from underneath the dirt. As she quiets her strangled cry, to stare wide-eyed deep into the earth where Lilian was buried, her mind starts pacing at an exceled rate.

“Ivette, help me!”

“Lillian?!”

In a second she was on the ground, her black dress’ knees plowing into the fresh soil as she dug with her fingernails. Her eyes were filled in by insanity. Clawing the dirt towards her desperately as someone tugged on her.

“Lillian? Lillian are you in there?”

“Ivette, I cannot breathe…please help me!” Another painful moan resounded from her grave and Ivette screamed at the top of her lungs. Her fingers aching as she wrought into the heavy grime, fingernails dirty and bleeding from the exertion.

“I will! I will get you out! I w-”

“Child?! What are you doing, child?!”

Her mother’s voice made it into her ear as someone wound their arms around her waist and pulled her away from the dirt, from Lillian.

“Help me, Ivette!”

“MOTHER, NO! SHE’S IN THERE, SHE’S ALIVE!”

“She is dead!” Her mother screams, placing her on the ground and spinning her around to face her.

“No! I heard!” Ivette yells, whirling her head back to the grave. Within moments the color returned in her eyes while she eyed the scrabbled soil and heaved. You stood off behind mother, who was breathing heavily, holding onto Mabel’s trembling shoulders.

“I heard it…I…heard it…” She mutters, eyes lowering.

You watch as she cowers her head, thinking of something before she looks back up to you. With that same glint in her eye as before.

“It was you!”

In the blink of an eye, she was upon you. Shoving you to the ground and attacking you with her hands. Mabel began to cry loudly, as your mother shouted her name. You shrieked, trying to fight off her blows with your arms as she straddled you tightly. The dirt on her hands, you felt it mark your face each time she landed an attack.

“YOU DID THIS! IT IS YOUR F-FAULT! YOU SHOULD BE UNDER THERE! IT SHOULD B-BE YOU! NOT LILLIAN!”

She hit you over and over, though she was weakened by the current events. But so were you.

“It should have been y-”

You yelped loudly as she scratched your eye before you felt her weight lift off of you suddenly and a loud sound of skin hitting skin echo in the vast dead vicinity. Mabel rushed to your side, helping you stand up as you covered your injured eye with your palm. There you watched as Ivette stood with a red hand painted across her right cheek.

Mother stood in front of her, teardrops falling from her sockets like a leak as the hand she slapped Ivette with hovered in the air. “I will not hear you say those filthy words again. I will not have you make a mockery of your sister’s death; do you understand me?”

Ivette did not utter a sound, her own eyes filled with liquid as she pursed her lips. Her fists were balled up against her dirtied black dress.

“I SAID DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME CHILD?!”

Your mother yelled so loud Ivette flinched. With a quivering mouth, she stumbled out a yes.

“I…I-I-I understand…”

As she uttered those words your mother physically slumped. A grimace appeared on her face as she placed her hand back to her side. She glanced at Lillian’s grave with an expression that shattered your heart and turned, without a word. Began to walk away from the whole scene.

Ivette stared off at the place where she once stood. Then she glared at you, as Mabel held onto your hand for comfort. And just like mother, the next second, she turned and trailed after the older lady.

You and Mabel stood there, gazing off at their distant figures as the wind still blew on languidly. For a moment you eyed the messy, scattered up dirt. Was all of this…really your fault? Then it was your turn, with Mabel squeezing your hand, to follow after the two women in complete silence.

The grave never made a sound, not once.

Perched underneath your bedroom’s veiled window, you sat staring at the cemented floor.

It had been a week since Lilian’s burial and the whole atmosphere of your house felt dreary and inanimate. Your own home felt unacquainted, like a stranger holding you captive underneath its dingy roof. Mother had long forgotten about your punishment and you were wondering of her existence since you had not gotten to see her since the funeral.

It went without say that you were sacked from your work. Ivette too, you knew that she could not have possibly gone to teach privileged children in her condition. You could not even sleep, scared beyond reason at another encounter with that monster from your dreams. Mother however, you heard of everyday clattering about in the kitchen, shutting the door at noon and again just past midnight. How strong was your mother to continue on with her work for nothing more than a few shillings.

A few wretched shillings.

You could not even eat properly, munching on the bread mother would place by your doorstep without energy. Yet she managed it all, Mabel, Ivette, you…just like when father died. There was nothing you had ever done to deserve her. Agonized, you groan when you feel another set of tears sting your eye sockets. It frustrated you to know that you could do nothing but cry. Weep, weep, weep until your soul eroded away.

Your left eye had swollen, the skin had grown rosy, puffy and enclosed around the sclera. Everyday you felt the pain and irritation, but you had no vitality to get up and aid yourself. Not sleeping had took such a toll on you that you had begun to see hallucinations, one where Lillian would come to you and yell that this was all your doing, that you were evil. Another where your father pleaded with you to come help him from beyond the walls.

Yet you knew, this was the devil’s work. He wanted you to sleep, he wanted to take you into hell once more and you refused to let him. That was the one thing that kept you going in your dire time. Your absolute abhorrence for that man from your nightmares.

You really had gone insane like father.

Unexpectedly, you heard soft footsteps heading towards your chamber and you quickly wiped your tears, holding your breath as they stood in front of your chamber door. As they turned your door handle and pushed open your door, you could not stop your jaw from laxing. It was now that you realized that you did not want to face anyone, specifically not someone from your family.

Specifically, not Ivette, who stood in the doorway with a blank stare as she looked own at you. She held Lillian’s wooden hair brush in her left hand.

You tightened your hold around your knees, as a small form of protection as she carefully came closer. When she sensed you were frightened of her she sighed, walking instead to your stiff bed and sitting down on its edge. Ivette appeared sick, like she had not been sleeping or eating just like you. Her hair resembled a rat’s nest and her shoulders sagged.

For a moment it was just silence, you observing her every movement as she numbly kicked her feet about. She mindlessly stared at the floor, at no place in particular and you saw how tired she seemed. A ghost living in a shallow body. As you were pondering on asking her what she needed, she gazed up at you and your heartbeat raised in morbid anticipation.

“H…How is your eye?” She asked cautiously. Her stare was shielded, almost as if she was disgusted by your appearance. But you could not blame her, for you could only imagine how you seemed with painfully hollowed cheek, black marks under your eyes that stretched out for miles, and a sunken face of a tired, drained girl in mourning.

You tried to reply to her, but your voice was hoarse and gritty. To which you winced before you cleared your throat, “It is alright…I am…I am alright.”

“I am glad,” She nods in response, “Sorry about before.”

“No it…it was not your mistake-”

“I just-” She interrupts your sentence by clenching her eyes and her fist, “I wanted answers to all this mess, you see. Why has Mabel been sick? Why have you been having your rotten dreams? Why did-” Her voice breaks midway and she sobs, “Why did Lillian die?”

Watching her become undone made tears fall down your face. “I wish I knew.” You reply tenderly.

Ivette once again senselessly contemplates the floor, the gaze in her orbs distant and muted.

“Ivette?” You softly call out to her and she turns to you, “Do you know what happened with mother? I…brushed her arm and it seems as if she got hurt…”

“…Mother was hit by Kim’s lackeys.”

“What?!” You say, placing your hands on the ground in surprise. “Wha-how? Why? Where?-”

“It was the day after his son’s death. He confronted mother on her way to work, calling you terrible names and blaming you for…and mother…she vouched for you.” She grimaces

Your heart feels like it has been hammered a thousand times over and you let out a strangled cry for your unfortunate mother. You could imagine it all, your poor mother telling them you were a good religious child, begging them to spare you as they kicked her helpless figure to the floor – hitting her with their sticks. Clenching your teeth, you muffle a scream, tears of pain pouring down your face. Why were you cursed with such a miserable fate?

Ivette sniffles at your broken state, getting up from the bed and stepping front of you. “If you want all of this to stop, you have to tell me what happens in your dreams.”

You turn your tear stained face to look up at her “W-what?”

In a swift motion she bends down, cups your hollow face with her hands and stares deeply into your orbs.

“___, please. I know you have been hiding the truth. Plain darkness would not make you thrash around in bed as you do. Please, please tell me what is going on!”

“Promise me, you will not tell the church of your dreams, you will tell no one. Promise!”

“I- I do no-”

“___, please! All of these situations – this misery began since the first time you woke up the house screaming because of your nightmare! Remember that gutted mutt we discovered on the porch two days after?”

“Y-yes but-”

“___,” Ivette stares at you with the watering eyes of a drowning woman. Your insides twist in anguish, face scrunching up in pain.

“I already lost Lillian. I do not want anything to happen to you now…”

With that you melt into her arms, crying as she cradles you close to her chest. “Hush, it is alright. I will protect you.”

You cry your heart out into her black nightgown, her bosom soaking with your tears. Everything had run beyond your grasp; all the death and pain was too much for you, just a simple if not fragile girl. What had you done to deserve any of this? Why had God decided to curse you?

“I-I- *hic* I-,” You struggle between broken sobs as Ivette holds onto you tighter, “It is not my fault, please b-believe me! I-I- did n-not-It was that man!”

“Man?” Ivette questions from above you

“There is this man…who comes in my dreams and he makes me see things…*hic* terrible things…and I think he is the one causing all of this!”

“This man…does he ever tell you to do anything?”

“I-I think…he tells me to run, to run as fast as I can an-and he has touched me…” You clamp your mouth shut, too horrified and embarrassed to go on further about that topic, “I think he is the devil…”

Ivette turns silent for a while and the only sound echoing in the walls of your chamber are the lenient sobs and whimpers that leave your mouth. Then, she softly moves you, till she was staring down at you with your face in her palms. She wipes away a few tears.

“Thank you for telling me this, ___. I know just what to do.”

“Y-you believe me?” You ask carefully, feeling your tears leak onto her fingers

“Of course. I will make sure that devil never hurts anyone I love ever again.”

Her determined proclamation leaves you somewhat complacent, a sense of peace settling into your bones. Finally, you would not have to suffer alone. You found someone to believe you, someone to protect you. A week ago, Ivette was the last person you would have thought to aid you. But fate works in mysterious ways, you realized.

“Thank you, Ivette.” You say, melting into her hands and closing your eyes for the first time in a while

“It is alright now. Sleep as much as you want.”

That was the last thing you heard before you felt a blunt object collide against your head, causing your already drained state to immediately lose conscious.

You could hear someone yelling in the near distance.

There was screaming and crying resonating in your ears.

Your vision was grainy, dull and somber. There was a circular frame of black around your sight, one you could not blink away but you saw them. The source of the chaos, although weak…you saw them.

There stood a woman, one who shielded her face behind her arms. And there was a man. A man who bore great resemblance to SeokJin, but he was older. He had a beard and a scowl across his face. It felt like you were standing by their window and peeping into their home. They were well embellished, furniture seemingly cut from expensive wood. And there, on the wall behind the man stood weapons. Gun and barrels with large, sleek designs mounted to the wall with pride.

As your conscious cleared slightly, you could tell he was hitting her. Smashing his fist against her arms as she backed up against a wall and cried in agony. He screamed curses loud enough for all the neighbors to hear. You wanted to help her, but you could not move. You could not do anything but watch.

“Whore! Vile mutt! If I drag thee across burning coals for hours and trample thee like ash beneath mine own feet, thou still couldst not repay for thy sins thee miserable wench!”

In return the girl wailed louder, apologies and prayers withering out of her as he pounded down on her. This seem to only enrage the man further as he grabbed a letter knife off the mantel beside them. With flaring nostrils, he gripped the back of her head, pulling it back from her arms for her to face him. The girl whimpered in pain as she seized the hand that imprisoned her and shook violently against the man. He held up the knife against her exposed neck.

But none of his actions concerned you in the least as you witnessed the identity of the woman in horror. Your blackened eyes, your bleeding nose, your cracked lips. The woman was you, you in every sense of the world. It was as if you were staring at your reflection.

“Bid me- giveth me one good reason I shouldst not cut thee up into bawbling pieces this instant, BID ME WHORE!”

The woman shook her head in plea, and you could only watch in terror as the man brought his knife against her skin, slicing the young layer. She screamed in pain as droplets of red poured from her neck and held against his hand fruitlessly. In the very last second, through cries and shrieks, she found her voice.

“Twas not m-my ughhh please, dear husband, twas that man, twas his doing!”

As her words left her mouth, the man halted. His eyes widening in anger as he detained her, bleeding and bruised.

The woman gazed into his eyes for a few seconds, before she closed them as if seemingly defeated. Droplets of tears fell down her face.

“That gent forced himself upon me…”

The man glared at her, her words seem to have struck something in him. Then he threw her onto the floor like a discarded rag, you could hear the bones of her knees collide with the hard wood floor. He did not waste any time dallying around as he grabbed what resembled a torch and headed for the door. Once he slammed the door shut, the woman flinched. She then stared at the floor she was on blankly, the blood seeping down her neck and staining the collar of her white dress.

Slowly, she brought up her thumb to wipe the blood on the corner of her mouth that appeared to be torn. The woman studied her thumb, quietly as if thinking of something. You then started to hear the soft sobs from the back of her throat once more, as she held her stomach with her arms. Coiling them around her abdomen she began to cry again with her jaw hung open, loudly pleading for something as she bended forward.

And you do not understand why but your own eyes felt the pain of tears.

Felt each ounce of her ache until you were woken by a large thud.

You gasp as your eyes split open and loud bangs make their way onto the floorboards of your room. There was no time to think as you were grabbed from the arms by two large, gruff hands. They sat you up with force – you who was on her bed, until you were facing your doorway. Your doorway where the preacher, wearing a purple stole and holding his Sunday bible stood.

“W-w-”

“Quit stalling and take her outside! We have to get this done quickly!” A loud voice resounded from behind the preacher. You recognized that voice…how could you forget a voice as powerful as that?

The two tall, burly men began to grab you, pulling you apart at each side off of the bed while you were still trying to understand what was happening.

“MY CHILD, PLEASE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY CHILD?” You heard your mother’s voice and that was when the panic set in. Immediately you try to pry away from the men.

“N-no, let go!” You yell, only for the men to drag you harder, off the bed and against the floor. The preacher gazed at you without an emotion and shifted to the side to allow the men to slog you out the room while you kicked your legs about. “W-what are you doing? Let go!”

As you made it into the dining chamber you saw your mom who ran towards you,

“MY CHILD!”

Yet she was held back by a grip on her wrist. Sir Kim stood beside her with wild eyes, “Silence woman! That girl is a witch! She must be burned!”

You could not believe your ears. You? A witch? There was no sound that escaped your throat as the men continued to yank at you.

“NO! Please! You are gravely mistaken let me b-”

“Mother, please!” Ivette shouted, making her way to mother and everything halted. You all eyed your elder sister with anticipated breaths as she stomped into the dining room with a determined air. They no longer pulled at you and you sat there, your upper body being held up by their arms, skin sore from their tight grips. Your sister who wore a bonnet like she had just arrived from outside the house looked over at you and you silently begged her.

“I-Ive-”

“I called for them, mother. She is not your daughter, she is a witch.” Ivette spit her sentence with venom, glaring at you like you were some sort of heathen. It felt like someone had hit you in the head with a mallet, your lungs collapsed.

“Ivette, what are you saying?” Your mother yelped in disbelief

“She told me all about it! About the devil that comes to her in her dreams. The man she does the bidding off…he…he has touched her mother, she is no longer your child or my sister. Witches sacrifice animals, that is why she tied a dead dog to our porch! No child could reach that high! She killed Lillian which is why her blood was on the second floor! She got past a locked door…and many more instances I consulted with the father of. Mother she is a witch! She has been murdering the whole town!”

Your mouth hung open at her words, tremors of shock flowing through you, “N-no, you are wron-no-”

“What are you imbeciles standing off for? Get her to the cross!”

The two men resume in dragging your already frail body across the floor. Sir Kim lets go of mother’s wrist who falls to the floor and begins to walk towards you. Your mother screams for you as Ivette runs to her aid on the ground.

“No! No! Please, it is a grave mistake!” You cry, pleading with them as they carry you out the entrance and across the porch. In the distant dust path, you spot two men impaling the dirt with a large wooden cross. The next second you were on the dusty road, legs burning in friction against the ground. Sir Kim comes out of your house with the preacher.

As you were screaming and being pulled to where the cross stood, your mother barged out the entrance with Ivette trying to catch up to her.

“John!” Your mother shouted, running up and grabbing the preacher’s arm, “John please do not do this! This is surely a mistake; my child could never hurt anyone sh-”

“Helene!” The preacher’s stern voice made your mother go quiet. “Do you recall when she shouted for that paperboy? I had some men look into him and one of the night men found him skinned alive on the corner of the abandoned road. How would your daughter have known of his demise?”

“And she is no longer a virgin! She has committed a great sin before betrothal! She is meant to burn either way.”

The men hold you up to the cross, tying your wrist against the horizontal plank as you struggle against them.

“NO! I can explain-”

“Silence, witch!”

A large man on the right slams his calloused palm against your cheek and you lose your focus as a buzzing rings throughout your ear. The swollen eye stinging as your cheek burns. While you were disoriented, they manage to tie your wrists against the cross without difficulty and you look about to see a small crowd of men, women and children forming around you. They all just stood there, anticipating expressions on their faces, not one protestant or coming to aid you. Soon after, the men began to tie your feet.

You could see your mother, screaming and begging to get to you as Sir Kim and Ivette held her back.

“Mother no! She is a pagan. A demon who lied to us!”

Strangely, you could feel every single word Ivette spoke scar deep inside your heart and pretty soon you heard it all. The spectators yelling burn the witch while your mother cried, Sir Kim telling the preacher to hurry it along and the preacher who opened the bible he held in his hand and gazed right at you.

“Please, Uncle John do not do this! PLEASE BELIVE ME, IT IS ALL LIES!”

Something flashes in his eyes when you call him uncle. Sir Kim marches over to the preacher as he senses hesitation. Leaving your mother wailing against Ivette’s chest. “I have not paid you to stall father, hurry along or the governor will hear about this. He would not like to hear that you spared someone who’s the cause of his daughter’s slit wrists.”

With such a simple whisper, the preacher snapped back to his book, forgetting your presence all together-

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy spirit. God, whose nature is ever merciful and forgiving, accept our prayer that this servant of thy, bound by the fetters of sin, may be pardoned by thy loving kindness-”

It was then that your toes curled, and you gasped as your head shot up to the sky. Wrists and feet struggling and bruising against your binds. Your mother screamed your name, but you could not see her. You could not see anything but him-

That young man from the cabin, wiping down his wooden table when a hundred men kicked down his door. The vision painted your eyes as bright as day, how they barged into his small cabin and they attacked him. Hitting him in the head and again as he fell to the ground. They crashed his furniture, they shattered his windows. You could feel it all, their sticks, their kicks, their curses, their shouts.

In pain, the young man began to bleed, to plead them to spare him until he appeared. Blood from his face rushed into a river of blood tainting the floor, the floor Jimin had built himself. Limiting his sight as the smaller man withered amongst the floor. They all made room for him, the man from your dreams who resembled SeokJin. He held a torch, his expression lit next to the blazing fire steely and unrelenting.

“P-please sire, w-why art thou doing t-this?”

“Thou forced thyself upon mine own wife, fiend!”

His eyes widened, “N-no thou hast to believe I-I-”

“Silence!” Jin roared before he brought his foot down on the young man’s gut.

“Pu-ha-” The man coughed up blood

“I am the only man for her.” Jin growled before he threw the torch onto him

You scream, loud and piercing as the sight of his flaming skin and cries vanished into the light blue sky that came back before you.

-depart with all your deceits, for God has willed that man should be His temple. Amen!”

The preacher finishes his rites before Sir Kim shoves him to the side, “BURN HER!”

“NNNOOOO!” Your mother shrieks, but you cannot reply to her as you have lost your voice. Both from the strain on your throat and the horrifying sight you narrowed in on behind her.

Mabel.

Young, wide-eyed Mabel who stood on the last step of the porch. Her mouth hung open, bottom lip quivering as she cried staring right into your eyes. Everything moved at a turtle’s pace as the men lit a match. The world was spinning. Your mother violently shook her head and you wanted to reach for her, to be back in the safety of her arms. Beside her perched Ivette, eyes glistening in what you thought was justice. And Mabel stood behind to the side, breathing all of the chaos in.

Look away, you wanted to scream, Look away! All you could recall was that faulty promise you had whispered to her and this was not what you wanted. What you went through with father.

Yet she gaped right at you, watched as the last words in your eyes pleaded with her innocent mind just before you exploded into a million galaxies.

Burned at the stake with a last cry.

Fluttering eyes and even breaths.

You woke to a dim place, pinched and blackened.

Or was it that you woke at all? Surrounded by the faintest shivers of embers.

Around you were sheets of black silks, you could feel them through the exposed skin of your arms and legs. A strange sense of similarity rested inside you. Why were you in one piece? In a moment you sat up, body moving amongst the air like a mechanical device. From your position, you stared at an off-white, almost gray wall, not feeling anything in particular – no happiness, nor sadness. Your room was lit, you realize, by a fireplace to your right.

There stood a man, in the same black suit, the black shoes you had seen for the past month. Yet this time he did not wear his hat and you saw his red scalp, absent of any strands as you placed your feet on the invisible floor. He was blocking the flares of fire from your sight, turned towards the small furnace like a worshipper. You stood up from the bed, approaching the man as the embers rung inside you like wilted petals.

You did not fear anyone or anything in that moment, there was nothing you felt as you stepped up to him. His face was covered in scars, scars you feel amongst the lining of your own casing. The fire illuminated the anger and pain in his expression like a permanent curse. He did not acknowledge you as you stood beside him, just made love with his eyes to the blaze in front of him. Eyes that you could never forget.

“Quaint, is it not?”

“Quite.”

Once your soft voice reached his ear, he looked over at you. You wanted to gasp at the violent burn marks, yet you felt no need. Instead you felt understood.

“Thou aren't bitter cold, art thee?”

“No, I…I am-”

Suddenly, you caught a glint from the corner of your eyes from above the mantel. You turn you head, to find a mirror reflecting your face. Ah, no wonder you felt at such ease, you reason as you gazed upon the similar rose color wounds, your bare cranium, your vacant pupils. The skin hung off your cheeks and your teeth blackened like coal.

“I am warm.”

You look up to the ceiling. There was nothing but an endless black void.

“Are we in hell?”

The man laughed, “No.”

“Why did you do all of this?” You uttered softly

“I could not forgive thee. Thee who let those heathens stand there and burn me alive, laughing at mine own screams.” You look back at him as he spoke, words spit with an uncontrollable rage, “Ripped me apart and tore away everything I loved. Therefore, I wanted you to like feel like me. Accused and accursed. And so, I waited. Waited there in the deep dark ends of the world for hundreds of years until the nightmares welcomed me and I was reborn again.”

“I dreamed for the first time, each moment. And I waited,” He looked into your eyes, “Until thou came back to me.”

“You earned what you yearned for. Now they have burned me. Stood there and watched. What will you do now?”

“I yearn for more than vengeance.” He speaks sympathetically, “I have yearned for thou since that day. Each moment I breathe with this empty heart. I dream. We were doomed from the beginning, meant to burn. We were meant to burn…” He took your fingers into his warm ones, his right hand empty of the weapon. “And so, it is said we shall burn them too, from this heaven below.”

You stare at his deformed hand, lost in the haze of his dimension. There was no where for you to go, no place for you to look back to. No home, no happiness, no sadness.

And there was no fear.

“I can think of one I want to burn tonight.” You say, to which he smiles that sinister smile.

That beautiful smile.

#bts #bts angst #yandere bts #jimin #jimin angst #yandere jimin #jin angst

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