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Little Rumi with her parents 🍁

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Did I take it too far…

Rumi’s Parents during Goryeo Dynasty…

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Let me take care of you…

Gwi-Ma and Miyeong during the Goryeo dynasty

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Sing for me~ Another fanart….Gwi-Ma and Miyeong during the Goryeo Dynasty

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Like Father, Like Daughter

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AU: Rumi and Jinu during the Goryeo Dynasty

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One of my big illustrations...Gwi-Ma and Miyeong 😋 Rumi's parents

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Before the Flames Devours me

(Gwi-Ma and Miyeong)

Scene 1: “The Scent of Her Sadness”

(Gwi-Ma’s perspective, Goryeo Dynasty)

I should not be here again.

The soul is ripe. It sings of surrender. Its edges are already frayed by grief, by the slow suffocation of duty. She is precisely the kind of mortal I have always harvested: trembling beneath silk, crushed under expectation, reaching for someone…anyone…to take the weight away.

And still, I do not take her.

Instead, I just… watch.

The petals have started falling early this year. The plum trees along her window scatter their white offerings into her room like shy ghosts. She is alone, as she always is at this hour. The gayageum lies beneath her fingers like a sleeping serpent. Her lips part. And then…

She sings.

It is always this way. A song first. Then the ache.

Her voice trembled ever so slightly. I tell myself I listen because it helps me understand her vulnerabilities. Her sorrows. Her worth.

But the truth?

Her voice hurts.

It reaches places within me I thought long turned to ash.

She sings, and I remember things I have no right to remember…offerings left at my ruined altar, warm hands cupping my face in the dark, lips whispering prayers not for salvation, but for understanding. That was her once, too. Another life. Another temple. Another lifetime of pain between us.

I swore this time would be different.

That I would take what I needed and leave. That she was just another soul waiting to be bound. Bent. Broken.

I shift closer, through the veil, stepping into the place where shadow meets scent. She doesn’t see me, but I know she feels me. She always does.

Her spine stiffens slightly, just before softening again. She continues to play.

Foolish girl.

She should fear me.

Instead, she sings for me.

I speak. A breath. A longing disguised as power.

“You are mine to ruin.” But the words taste false the moment they leave me.

I reach out…why? I tell myself it’s part of the game, part of the method. A touch to weaken. A contact to unravel her guard. But my hand, this cursed hand, finds the curve of her neck. Just barely. Just a breath against skin that glows pale in the moonlight.

And she shudders.

Not in terror.

In recognition.

She speaks.

“You're here again.”

It is quiet, but the way she says it…drives a slow crack through my certainty. I withdraw as if burned, vanishing into the folds of the night before I do something truly unforgivable.

I leave her window behind. Again. Because if she turns…if she looks at me…something inside me will break loose.

And I am already not who I was before she began singing.

I will return tomorrow.

I tell myself it’s because I must.

That the threads of her soul are ready to be pulled.

But the truth is…I want to hear her voice again.

And every time she sings, I lose a little more of the monster I’ve spent centuries perfecting.

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If Rumi's mother were alive... or another story about this family

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And once again, the famous couple was spotted📸

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A little more about Rumi's parents...the tragic end of a forbidden romance

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Abby in my style

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A little fun instead of serious art😖

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Jinu and Abby hehe