#fic:a heretics demise

[snakescript]

a heretic’s demise | jung jaehyun

pairing | jung jaehyun x reader genre | angst warnings | death, alcohol wordcount | 6,9 k

“one for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral and four for birth. five for heaven, six for hell seven for the devil, his own self.” “did you miss me?,” the crow asks.

↳ part of whispers in the dark

Everything is grey. The cobblestone alley behind her, the houses lining it and the sky, washed out and sad, as if someone had suddenly stolen all color from them. She stands at the edge of the street, waiting, sheltered from the pouring rain by the tiny glass roof canopying the stop. It’s freezing, and she tries not to let it affect her too much. It isn’t a cold that clothing can fix, even if she were in her winter coat, - although the coldest season is still months away -, she would be equally as frozen. No, this is a cruel, wet kind of cold that seeps through layers and layers of clothing and flesh until it sinks into your bones where it clings to and rattles your spine. The only way to fight it are happy thoughts and maybe the rising steam of a full bathtub, preferably with bubbles on top. Neither are an option right now. She wraps her jacket tighter around her body, anyway.

The bus pulls up in front of her, spraying from the puddled water all over the sidewalk. With an exhausted huff, it opens its doors. She quickly steps inside, passing the bus driver wordlessly, as well as the only other passenger, that does not even look at her. She sits down somewhere in the back, next to the window where she watches the raindrops hit the glass forcefully - as if they are trying to soak her further, blurring together as they do not manage to get through and run down instead, giving up their vicious attempt. Maybe they want to join the ones that are already dripping from her hair and bag, water from the same cloud calling for a reunion. She wonders if the rain would have drowned her if she stayed out longer. Considering the black cloud that has been following her, it seems plausible enough.

The bus starts back up with a pitiful roar, and somewhere in the distance a bird screams.

It is only a short ride with the roads empty and desolate. No one wants to leave their home in this miserable weather. Changing onto a train, she sits down next to another window, her carry on bag stored over her head even with the seats surrounding her unused. The blur outside the moving wagon turns from grey to green as she leaves the city behind, passing through forests instead. She simply watches the scenery change with a stoic expression. Her hands fidget slightly, but otherwise she sits still throughout the hours long ride, never getting up nor stretching her limbs. The rain gets left behind somewhere along the way, yet the sky stays a drab color. Clouds hang low, in a threatening manner - they still have not emptied all of their tears. Maybe, she muses, they are mourning her departure, it would be a nice gesture.

Her mind, however, is about as blank as her face. Thoughtless, it is as if she were sleeping with her eyes open. But the lethargic blinks and the way her pupils run along with scenery indicates her alertness. When the inspector passes her, she already has the ticket ready for him before he even gets to ask. He greets her in a friendly manner but she only answers with a slight nod. She hasn’t spoken in so long, she isn’t sure she still possesses a voice. It doesn't really matter, anyway.

When there is something she needs to say, her voice will not fail. Just as where she is heading, is where she needs to be. She isn't sure why, but she needs to go there something in her guts tells her. It's a small town, in the middle of nowhere, and she hasn't thought about it in what must be years. But recently, it has been on her mind constantly, urging her to go. It has been driving her crazy, but in the end, she decided to take some days off of work, and go on a spontaneous trip. A short holiday did seem like a good idea. After all, she has been living in a daily routine of work and sleep with not much in between.

The air that hits her as she exits the train is heavy and humid, making it hard to breathe. A soaked cloth as laid itself over her face, and each inhale lacks oxygen. Her earlier thought of drowning comes back into her mind, but now, it evolved. The rain isn't needed anymore.

Another bus takes her from the train station to what could be called the city center. It mostly just consists of one long main road, that plain, impressionable building line. They are worn down and faded, in desperate need of a fresh coat of color or maybe a whole renovation all together. But the way they are build, they don't seem so old, either. A couple decades, maybe. Not enough to be considered historical.

Smaller streets branch off and wind itself into the distance until they disappear between more houses or the enclosing forest. The town is tiny enough, one could walk from one end to the other taking up barely an hour. But it's familiar, nothing has changed. Nothing ever changes, here.

Sure, the supermarket has a new owner, and the bar on the corner she hasn't seen before. But in the grand scheme of things, everything is static.

Walking down one of the asphalt streets, she keeps to the side - there are no sidewalks. But with the lack of cars driving, it isn't an issue. A bit further on the edge, it is lined with wilting bushes and trees, plains of saturated grass stretching out on each side. At the end, a house is waiting for her. A simple construction, those cut and paste multi-story apartment buildings that are build all over the country. Against the backdrop of the dark green forest, the faded blue veneer looks sad and lost.

The door opens with a loud creak, that echoes in the stairway. Another dull, colorless thing. No one ever thought of putting effort into making it look pretty while building. Concrete stairs and metal railing don't make for a welcoming view. But she doesn't mind.

She climbs up to the third floor, stopping in front of the door numbered eleven. The key to it rests underneath the doormat as promised, and she lets herself into the little two room apartment. A light wooden floor groans underneath her step as she crosses the hallway with three doors, all of them open. The one on the right leading to the bathroom, a little moldy and covered in tiles that are a horrendous salmon color, the one on the left leading to the bedroom that only holds a bare mattress, and the third opening into the living space.

Opening all the windows, she hopes to air out the staleness that has settled in the unused apartment. Her steps seems to bounce off the walls without much furniture to absorb the sound. The living room is mostly empty, too, save for the old, tattered build- in kitchen and the dark, oaken table standing against the wall. Still the same.

But at the sight of the furniture, her stomach twists. A queasy feeling settles in her gut, her lungs restricting their capacity, letting her go light headed as she carefully tip toes closer. She rests one hand lightly on the surface, fingers tracing the patterns of the wood, feeling each dent, each nick. It's build in a sturdy way, a few small dents do no damage, it is a wonderful piece of furniture. But there is something about it, a feeling of frustration that comes when she looks at it. Like an old habit, she turns her hand over and rasps her knuckles on the surface three times.

At that moment, a shadow catches her eye, making her turn away and step towards the balcony. Lingering in the frame of the open door, she doesn't step outside entirely as there are still puddles on the tiles from the previous rain and she doesn't want to wet her socks. But she doesn't need to go any further. Because, there on the railing, a large bird is perched, with dark coat of feathers shimmering a opalescent blue in the afternoon light, and black eyes trailed on her. The crow lets out a croak and takes off, disappearing in the forest. It only leaves behind a single feather.

She didn't stay too long in the apartment, after all there wasn't too much to do in it, lacking all kinds sings of live. Putting her coat back on, that is still damp from the earlier rain, she locks the door and decides to take a walk. Her feet carry her through the town automatically, every corner and cobblestone alley still engraved in her mind. It feels like returning home - except something is off. Like a light has been dulled and all the colors got desaturated. The space next to her seems oddly empty.

The sun has started to set, coloring everything in with a golden light. A warm glow that is typical for an autumn day, reminiscent of red apples, fallen leaves and pumpkin soup. It makes the world around her look friendlier, more welcoming, but she isn't fooled. Once the moon has claimed the sky, the facade will crumble, revealing the lonesome nature of this place.

She has encountered quite a few people on her stroll, some faces she even recognized. Yet no one seems to admit to knowing her. Maybe they really forgot who she is, but she feels their eyes burn into her neck once she passed them. She tries to pay no mind to it. It's not like she wants to talk to anyone. She actually enjoys the solitude. She always has. Even in her day to day life, she has always found herself keeping silent and hidden away.

But it is still a strange feeling having her existence doubted like that, no one acknowledging that she is actually there. If it wasn't for her shadow growing longer under the disappearing sun and the sound of her heels on the ground, she would have questioned if she exists at all.

Faint music hits her ears as she makes her way around another corner, coming from a small hole-in-the-wall cafe. The iron tables in front of it are empty, the seats neatly tucked in, but through the open door, she can make out some people inside. The smell of coffee and stale cigarettes meets her as she enters the place. A few glances are send her way, but none linger and she sits down at a little corner table, studying the menu.

A waiter comes to taker her order - a black coffee and a panini to settle her hungry stomach - before she is left to her own devices again. There isn't much to do, other than eat and drink. She is left to observe the place, but the walls are mostly free of fancy decoration, just some simplistic pictures here and there, and the other customers seem to be watching her out of the corner of their eyes as well. She pays them no attention, but it leaves her from idly watching them to let time pass.

Yet, she still spends a long time sitting there. By the time she has settled her bill and stepped outside again, it is only street lamps that are illuminating the way and the night has gotten a frosty bite to it. In the sky the moon stands high, although the glow it casts is dimmed by the clouds that hang over him. It must already be way after nine pm.

So, she makes her way back home, walks all the steps again. This time, in the dark, and she was right. Without the sun giving its warmth away, the city seems eerie, even hostile. The houses she passes have no lit up windows, no cars pass her, her steps echo between the old buildings. She might as well be the only one here. Maybe she is.

Has it always been this way? This empty and desolated? Has the life she got used to in the bustling seaside town she has claimed as her home warped her perception this much? It has always been quiet and empty here, but she has never felt quite this isolated, so unwelcomed. It is as if the city has shut her out, abandoned her even as she is trying to return.

Although she still isn't sure why. The reason for her craving to return is still not clear. There is nothing here to return to as far as she is concerned. Yet, she something inside of her told her to. It's been a small eternity since she last walked those streets, but they will forever be ingrained in her memory.

There is something wrong, however, whenever she tries to recall them. The city is there, vivid and clear, looking friendlier than it does now, the greys less depressing, the blues bright and the greens saturated. Just a regular town. But there is more, something she cannot decipher. A black, blurry stain, as if something has took a marker to cross whatever lies underneath out.  The harder she tries to focus on it, the less solid it becomes and she wonders if there was nothing there at all in the first place. Those memories are always accompanied by a raging headache. She stopped thinking about it.

By the time she has returned to her apartment, she is shivering. The temperatures have dropped significantly, and a thick layer of fog is creeping out of the woods as the humidity of the earlier rain that still hangs in the air makes itself visible. Fingers stiff from the cold, she crams out the key and lets herself back into her momentary home. Dew sticks to her coat and her hair feels moist, so she decides to take a quick shower before heading to bed. Not having been here for a whole day yet, the boiler hasn't managed to warm enough water, leaving her even colder than before.

Wearing too many layers for her liking, she crawls on top of the mattress she has since covered in bedding, wraps herself in a blanket and closes her eyes. Sleep is far from being attainable, but she is trying. Tossing and turning, she spends a long time trying to get comfortable, always keeping her eyes shut tightly.

In the end, she dreams of eyes as black as the feather left behind on her balcony, a dimpled smile and a large, warm hand that stretches out to hold her own.

She settled into an routine.

Wake up late, eat breakfast in the small coffee shop not too far away from her apartment building, wander the streets aimlessly all day to then have dinner, drinks and a cigarette or two in the grubby old bar on the edge of town. It's a rhythm she has been following for days now, even if she shouldn't.

She only taken off work for a few days, yet a week has come and gone by already. She never called in. The thought did not even cross her mind once. It's as if she has entered a different reality, the fog that crept over the meadows on her first night a door that swept her to another dimension. Her cozy apartment in the seaside town, her job, her former life, it all just seems like a distant dream. Too far away to bother her in any way.

All that exists for her is this strange town now and the even stranger memories that tie her to it. They have started to come back, bit by bit. The shadows are starting to take on form, the constant buzz is mellowing out to something not quite human yet, but recognizable. She thinks she can pick out a word here and there, a hoarse, croaking voice that sounds like the cry of a bird. Yet, it is definitely talking to her, and a smoother tone lies underneath.

Maybe it is the large crow that has been following her around. She saw it more than once, lurking just outside of where she could see it, watching her through tree branches intently. It had visited her balcony again, too. She found feathers lying there more than once.

It is always the same one, without a doubt. There is something in it's stare, something about those black eyes she feels constantly watching. It's not just any bird. It is human, it must be. Or supernatural. Perhaps in this new reality birds seem so sentient, how could she know the ins and outs of a place she just became a part of. But no ordinary animal has the ability to watch over her like that.

She has build a connection to it, too - a certain dependency. Without it there, something is off. But with it there, things are even stranger. She is aware of it waiting outside while she sips her coffee in the morning or whiskey at night. Even through the walls, she feels the eyes that are still trailed on her. It doesn't make her uneasy, not anymore. There is something in her gut that tells her it's okay.

But her living shadow made her remember an old nursery rhyme. Her father loved telling it to her, and as a small child she was delighted, trying to babble it back to him. It was when her grandmother, her father's mother, started scolding him for it, she started to feel unease when hearing it. Her father is inviting misfortune in, she would say, he would curse this family.

A superstitious woman, she was, always muttering prayers and spells under her breath to ward off evil. For every situation, she knew something to do as to not attract bad luck. A rabbit's foot in her pocket, natural gift to find four leaf clovers and a strict rule that no black cat has ever to enter her house, she was not fond of ravens, and - in extension - crows.

With lore of disease and grief surrounding them, she thought of those animals as nothing but death bringing omens. They were common, though, on the far out countryside where she lived. In autumn, they would sit on the branches of the trees stripped of leaves in twos and threes, letting out hoarse screams from time to time. Their noisiness would earn them nothing but harsh glares and curses muttered underneath the old woman's breath. Yet she would always make sure to count them, muttering a prayer after.

It was strange, she was strange. How much she believed in all of those myths. Her most prominent habit, the memory of her grandmother doing it over and over again still clear in her head, was to knock on wood whenever she said something horrible. As if letting your knuckles touch the nearest wooden surface three times would stop the said thing from becoming true.

Maybe, she remembers it so vividly because her grandmother was not the only one to have had that habit. There was someone else. Not as old, not as superstitious, not as easy to remember. He was someone close, someone important. That she does remember. But there is no name, no face. Just the image of large hand with bony fingers curled in as it touches the wood, and smooth laughter, as if he was amused by his own habit.

Unconsciously, she runs her fingertips over the wooden cafe table, lightly tapping her knuckles against it too, as if it would somehow make her recall more details. An impossible feast, she is aware, but she cannot help herself. Her hand trails up along the lines and patterns engraved, until it knocks against her coffee, half empty and growing cold.

She take a sip, her face scrunching up as the taste has grown bitter. Somewhere someone yells to turn up the volume on the TV hanging over the bar that broadcasts the morning news. A man in his early forties, dressed in a stiff looking grey suit matching his thinning hair announces the headlines in a monotone voice. Something about politicians lying, companies making profit, and other things she does not care about. The only thing sparking her attention are a couple of unsolved murders in a town nearby. It is speculated to have been just a single person and there are no suspects yet, the locals are advised to not go out on their own and report all suspicious activity.

Mulling over it for a second, she decides she is too far away for it to concern her.

But then something else catches her attention. A static flickers over the display, a high frequency pitch making her flinch. The grain suddenly disappears, leaving behind a black screen and deafening silence before a face appears.

Messy black hair falls into his warm, brown eyes that have the same gentle gleam as always. Milky skin, a straight nose, peachy lips that when turning up create endlessly deep dimples in his cheeks. A smile graces his prince like features, one that feels like home, that makes her want to run toward his tall frame and bury her face in his chest, like she did so many times. His tongue pokes out, running across his lip before he speaks, a voice deep but still alike honey. “I missed you, why did you leave?”

Jaehyun.

Oh god, how did she forget, how could she forget? The blur in her memories, the voice in her dreams. The emptiness at her side. Jaehyun, her best friend, her lover. He was home. This was home. This town, it was theirs together - but, no, it was just his. But he turned it into her haven, as well. Why couldn’t she see him in the shadows?

Why did he leave? Or did she?

She meets his eyes, and oh, how she missed them, missed him. But something is off. His eyes are too dark, it’s not the chestnut hue she knows but a pitch black, and the corners of his smile are turned up too far. It’s not kind, it is sinister. He raises a hand and beacons her close, but all it does is make her want to run. “Come home to me.”

The screen goes black again with another screeching frequency, and her eyes fall down to her hands. They are trembling, so she balls the up to fists, and keeps them at her side. Her breathing is fast and shallow, a lack of oxygen is starting to make her vision go fuzzy. A deep sense of dread has spread through her body.

But once glance around tells her that no one else has noticed anything. Their conversations among themselves don’t seem confused or hushed. Outside of her mind, the cafe is calm, a peaceful backdrop, and on the TV the weather forecast is just finishing up. Nothing unusual ever happened.

She leaves a few coins on the table to pay her debt and silently slides outside. A heavy fog lies in the air, and the temperature feels colder than before. Her hands are still shaking as she keeps them in the pockets of her coat, and a pair of eyes too human for an animal follows her down the road.

She sits cross legged on the mattress in the bedroom. Next to her stands a half full bottle of whiskey. The taste has already stained her tongue, a burn in her throat as she keeps chugging the booze. It's a good feeling, though, the pain making her feel alive, the heat dispelling the ice that has crept into her bones. The mist from outside still lingers in her heart.

He keeps appearing in front of her eyes, like he is branded on her lids, smiling at her each time she blinks. But it's not him. It's the crooked twin of him. He has tainted all her memories. Desperately, she searches for warmth and comfort, for the man she loved, but all there is, is darkness and despair. It's cold.

Just like outside. The sky is weeping the tears she fails to produce. A constant rhythm of the raindrops hitting the window plan fills the silence, and she is glad. She always liked the sound of rain, liked the melancholic weather in general. It always seemed to follow her.

But it reminds her of something else, too. It was raining, just like today, when she first met him. A random encounter in a random street. He accidentally bumped into her, causing her to fall. He helped her up, and with an ashamed smile, apologized a million times. Brushing off the dirt, she forgave him right away, and they ended up going their separate ways once again.

His face, however, remained in her memory. She started seeing him around a lot. Two rows in front of him on the bus, a shelf away in the library, in the line at the grocery store. He asked her out on a coffee after two weeks, laughing about it having to fate. And maybe it was.

They lived close, too, just a few blocks apart, and attended the same college. It was a miracle they haven't met sooner. But once they did, they were inseparable. There was something about him, that made her feel like he got her completely.

She has always felt a little strange, a bit of an outsider. As if everyone else grew up learning the same games and rules, and she was the only one that got the wrong version of the book. Her words would never truly reflect her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to phrase them, her actions were always a bit too brash. People looked at her strange.

But never Jaehyun. It was as if he was in her head. She didn't need to worry about saying things wrong, or being too closed off. With him it was natural. He gave her just the right amount of space, and how to show her his love. They were a match made it heaven. She never left his side.

After college, they moved in together, leaving behind dorm rooms and crappy, little studio apartments. He got a job offer in his field with promising pay back in his hometown. Together with their savings it was enough for the start to keep them afloat until she settled in as well. He reassured here she would find a job easily. The move was intimidating at first. He grew up in a town small enough to have everyone know each other, everyone was anticipating his return.

She was new, a foreigner. It was like she was a child all over again. Everyone was aware of the rules - except her. They accepted her, of course, Jaehyun brought her with him after all. But she felt the falseness in their smiles as her own lacked enthusiasm and the tone of her voice was never quite right. She never fully fit in. She probably never would.

Jaehyun was right, she found a job soon enough. Nothing using her degree, but she didn't mind. Her main reason for college was the lack of career aspects, anyway. A few more years of education to find herself, find something to do, broaden her chances of a good job. She never really found a dream, never found a certain job enticing, even after graduating. So the boring office job she accepted suited her just fine. Typing up reports and fetching coffee were as good as anything, and they did pay her fairly. She felt lonely, sure, but without Jaehyun at her side, that was expected.

They got a decent apartment, too. Nothing new or big, but enough for the two of them, and a huge improvement from their previous home. A cozy bedroom, and a living space that let in lots of light. The only thing she hated about it was the horrendous color of the bathroom tiles.

It suited them just fine. They spend every free second they had in there, just the two of them. But he worked a lot, put in many hours. He loved his job, and as he started coming home late, she would try to kill the time reading books. Going through one novel after next, she sat at the rustic dining table each night. When he came home, he would laugh, teasing her about preferring the stiff dining chairs over their second hand, worn down couch in the other corner. She would argue that the light next to the balcony door was better, even they both knew it had nothing to do with it. One day, he joked, I will afford to buy you the comfiest armchair there is to read in.

She always quipped back about how his company would run him to death first, with the amount of work he had to do. Then the mood turned a little bit more somber when the weight of his tired frame and dark eyebags set in, and how he hadn't taken a real rest in a while. How he barely slept, and never even had time for her anymore. How she hasn't felt so isolated in a very long time.

I won't die for a long time, he'd assure her, you can’t rid of me that easily. Knock on wood.

She stands in front of the same table now, right where he used to be when facing her. Her fingers rest on the oak table as she lets out a sigh. The sturdy furniture helps her keeps herself upright. The room sways a bit, the whiskey has thrown off her balance.

It looks so empty. The room looks empty, feels empty. But she knows that even bringing back all the furniture she decided to sell when she left, wouldn’t fill the room up. It’d just make the feeling even worse. Without him, there is no use in anything. She didn’t leave this town behind without a reason.

Bringing the old memories back to life would do nothing but create an empty shell. Yet, it would match her existence. She has been hollow ever since. A crucial part - the part that feels alive - is missing from her. Maybe that part never existed. Maybe, he was the part that made her whole. A passive life is what she leads. There is no meaning in it, it’s just one endless, unchanging stream of days.

The storm outside has picked up. The rain is now pounding against the window with violence. It targets her, wants to fill the void inside of her, drown her. She isn’t whole and the rain doesn’t like it. Puddles form out on the balcony, and the moisture will stay trapped in the air. Tomorrow, the town will be covered in a heavy fog as the water refused to return to the sky.

She misses him.

The crow watches her from the outside.

Knock on wood.

She doesn’t see much further than her own hand stretched out in front of her eyes. A white mist creeps in the air. It resembles her mind, the hangover fogging up her thoughts. But the cold feels good as it fills her lungs.

Here and there the morning sun peaks through the thick layer of clouds that hangs in the sky. But it is still a gloomy mood. She walks through the empty streets, not one person passing by her. It is early enough that the street lamps are still burning, casting a golden sheen through the fog every couple of meters. It’s a strange sight, feeling more like a painting than real life. But she goes on and enjoyed the scenery.

She still feels its eyes on her. At this point she would be more surprised if it wasn’t watching her. Ignoring the strange feeling it elicits in her, she walks on. In her mind she replays all the memories she made in this place. Every street she walks now, she has walked before with Jaehyun holding her hand. She passes the little park where they would stroll through on calm sundays and the corner store they would go shopping late at night. He kissed her there, bought her this here, and made her laugh over there. His reminders are everywhere. His missing presence is overwhelming.

The crow let's out a croak, breaking the absolute silence. It startles her. She stops in her tracks, her heartbeat a little too fast. She has half a mind to curse it out, address it directly. It is the first time, it has interacted so directly with her. So far, it has been nothing but a silent watcher. But this scream had felt deliberate. It was trying to tell her something. She realizes where she is standing. Across the street, flowers decorate the little shop windows. A few are standing outside, the petals folded up and dotted with dew droplets. The sign in the door reads open, in spite of the early hour.

A faint smell of roses waves over to her, and Jaehyun is back in her mind. A vivid memory, this time, one that crashes over her like an ocean wave. Spring had just begun and a bucket of blood red roses stood outside the shop, incensing passerby's to come take them with them. She was fascinated by the lucid color, and the sweet scent that lingered around them. Tugging at his hand, she lead him over to take a closer look. He poked fun at her, about how she usually expressed her disdain for flowers and their momentariness. But he bought her one, anyway. She kept it around until every last petal had fallen of. She was sure the smell of it lingered on, even then.

Now, there are no red roses calling to her attention. This time are white, blending in with colorless ambiance of the town. But they smell just as sweet. She picks one up. It is perfectly formed, each petal the perfect size to complement the others.

A voice sounds out behind her, causing her to flinch. Her fingers wrap around the flower, a thorn pricking her as she slightly crushes it. The owner of the little flower shop greets her, mentions the beauty of the flowers, how they are impossible to pass up. She just silently nods along. There is a moment of silence in which he studies her closely. A drop of blood runs down her hand, a stark contrast to the pristine white of the blossom it lands on.

Suddenly the urge to buy something overcomes her. Just like back then, she cannot pass it up. She asks him how much a single rose costs, but he offers her a bouquet instead. A special deal, he promises, he won’t charge much. Reluctantly, she agrees and he disappears back inside. Slowly, she follows him.

He doesn’t take long, and as promised, she pays what must be a fraction of the amount he should charge, because she walks out with a beautiful bouquet. It leaves her breathless for a second when she first sees it. Roses in a crimson so deep they appear black, mixed in with the ivory ones she admired outside, as well as white lilies. It is a mournful arrangement, fit for grieving but it is exactly what she needs. Her mind is as dreadful as death.

She now has a destination in mind.

(The crow approves.)

It’s not a far walk to the cemetery. It lies a little outside the town, hidden by the woods. The trees line the gravel road leading up to it, an iron fence marks the perimeter. The handle is cold and wet under her grip, and as the black gate swings open with a loud screech, a bird flies over her.

She knows where to go, it is still fresh in her mind. She feels as if it was yesterday she last was here. Nothing changed, either. It’s a timeless place. The plain gravestone, no flowers, no decorations near it. As she walks up to it, she notices the black birds around her. Some on the ground, some sitting on other graves, all of them their eyes trailed on her. She counts six of them, all together.

The seventh is perched on his grave. It is a familiar one. She nods at it in greeting, before trailing her eyes on the engraving. A look at the date shoots a pang through her heart. She had lost all sense of time during her stay, weekdays blurred together, time became meaningless. But suddenly, she is very aware of the date matching today. Kneeling down, she props the bouquet up against the stone. The crow stays where it is.

She stands back up, brushing the dirt off of her and buries her hands deep in the pockets of her coat. Behind her, she hears the flutter of wings and the tapping of talons on the gravel. The crows have come closer, they surround her. Straightening her posture, she gives the largest one in front of her a sad smile.

“Did you miss me?,” it asks.

“What kind of question even is that?,” she responds with a laugh. “Of course I did.”

“You never came to visit, how was I to know?” Jaehyun responds. She hasn’t heard his voice in so long, it feels strange talking to him now. It’s been forever, yet she could still recognize him with her eyes closed. She will never forget it - except, she had for a long while.

At his words, a sinking feeling overcomes her. The day of his funeral, she had made up her mind. She never returned, never said goodbye. She just left, picked up a new life in another town. It didn’t take long for her to stop thinking about this place, about him. She felt empty, but not until her return did she realize that he was the one that took something from her.

Guilt is heavy on her shoulders. He knows it, too, the way she just erased him from her mind. She looks into the crows eyes, the pitch black orbs. He blinks slowly, and crooks his head, before continuing to talk. “You made it so easy for yourself. You always preferred the easy way, didn’t you?”

She shakes her head. For the first time in years, maybe, for the first time in her life she feels like crying. There is a knot in her throat that burns like fire as she tries to swallow, and tears pool in her eyes, but Jaehyun shows no consideration for her state. “Not once in your life did you have to fight for anything.

“You’ve always just been there, passively. You let things happen to you without ever feeling them. The void where your heart should be, it just always ate everything up. Anger, sadness, grief, they are foreign to you. But so is joy and hope. Have you ever felt real emotion? Have you ever felt human? You never loved me either, did you?”

“No, stop this.” Tears are streaming over her cheeks now, it feels hot and alien. Inside, she feels something breaking. “That’s a lie. Loving you was the only thing good thing that had ever happened to me. I don’t know how, but you made me feel. I love you. I always will.”

“Then join me,” he responds. “You are nothing without me. Be by my side again. I can make you whole.”

He doesn’t need to say anything else. He has said enough. She has one hand clasped over mouth, choking back sobs as she nods. Behind her the crows start to scream, a loud, unbearable noise. Wiping tears away, she waits for more his words, waits for him to tell her what to do. He simply bows his head, and opens his beak, joined the croaks of the others. Fluttering his wings, he takes off into the woods. His scream echoes through the air.

She takes a moment to collect herself. Then, she follows in the direction the crow disappeared into. Leaving the graveyard grounds, she finds a small path snaking through between trees, leading somewhere unseen. It’s overgrown with grass and weeds, no one has used it in a long time. But it ends in the most beautiful clearing in the middle of the forest.

The grass is green here, and without anyone tending to it, nearly reaches her hip. Sunlight breaks through the clouds, giving it a warm atmosphere. Yet, the saturated colors seem strange to her, having spend days, maybe weeks, in a colorless space. The air is clean, an earthy smell stirred up by the earlier rain fills her nostrils.

Slowly, she steps into the middle. Wildflowers hide between the weeds, although they won’t stay for long. Summer is over, and their death is unavoidable in the harsh weather. As she lies down in the middle of them, she wonders if she will be found while the flowers still bloom.

Or, maybe, an eternity will pass before someone crosses her corpse. They will find a skeleton, with vines wrapped around bones. Her flesh will feed the wild, foxes and vermin will state their hunger on her. Closing her eyes, she lets the cold seep into her remains.

Next to her, the grass rustles, and a familiar feeling hand encloses her fingers.

She has returned home.