5eraphism

[5eraphism]

❪  ✦  ❫  𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 ⸺ 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 : the sand swallows sound ⸺ 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 : the waves move but there is no tide

THE SEA LOOKS LIKE IT COULD SWALLOW HER WHOLE . . . not violent, not chaotic, but patient, like it's waiting. waiting for her to step too close, waiting for her to come closer, waiting for it to crash down on her lithe frame and sweep her out to sea without so much as a shred of hesitation. the beach stretches empty, the sand brittle beneath her bare feet, crumbling where it meets the darkened tide. she always finds herself here when things seem too much, too overwhelming — when she can't grasp the harsh reality that is closing in on her, when her breath gets caught in her lungs and her ribcage aches, trepidation so often squeezing her bones and turning her veins cold. she has come here so many times, but even the wind here feels strange now, too quiet, curling through the threads of her tangled hair without purpose. there is no sound aside from the distant, sluggish lap of the water pulling back into itself over and over and over again.

hyejin stands with her toes sunk into the chilled earth, the brittle hitch of her own breath stumbling out of her lungs — the hem of her dress is stained with dew and salt, arms folded loosely against her middle. not quite shielding, but not quite holding herself together. the skin along her back burns — angry, fevered, searing and scorching with each small movement — but she does not touch it, does not reach for it, and has done little to soothe the injury. she knows too well what her fingers would find if she scraped them along the skin there. three lines, too neat, too deep, carved into her like a signature that she will never be able to erase. her throat tightens, and it takes everything she has to hold herself upright.

mouthofthemountain. the words linger here, curling against the softest parts of her. a curse. a warning. a secret. and still, the ocean offers no answer to what she dreamt of that night. she feels her lips begin to tremble, tasting the salt on them as she pulls the flesh between her teeth in a poor attempt to ground herself from everything. the courtyard feels miles away, but she swears she can still smell the stone, still feel the shape of the weeping woman behind her like a second spine. her breath fogs in the morning air as she stares out at the horizon, but hyejin finds she is not alone. the shoreline may be empty, but behind her — in the dunes, between the sway of wind-wilted grass and crumbling fences — someone approaches, footsteps somehow heavy against the sand.

she steps backwards, letting the dark water that swirled around her ankles recede. even as she retreats it feels too cold. too still. and somehow, even with her leaving, still feels as though it's waiting. she turns then, unsure if the salt she tastes now is the sea or her tears. perhaps both, so she gently pulls at the sleeve of her sweater and dabs at her eyes as the other approaches. she exhales, shaky, uneven, far too loud in such a small and unmoving space, trying to press forward past the figure without raising too much suspicion. "s-sorry . . . i'm just about to, er— h-head back."

[5eraphism]

(220709 Music Core) Luda // Last Sequence

[5eraphism]

❪ ✦ ❫ 𝐋𝐕𝐊𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓:𝟎𝟎𝟐 — 𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐘𝐄𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐎. ⸺ 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 : vivid nightmare imagery, body horror, blood, religious and angelic(?) horror, lifeless bodies, implied death and hyejin crying because that's a trigger in and of itself. if i'm missing something here please let me know and i'll tag it accordingly! 🤍

THERE IS NO SKY, THERE IS ONLY WHITE . . . white that breaths, white that pulses — not a color, but an atmosphere, thick and endless, swallowing the shape of her body until even her fingers blur when she raises them. the light here is wrong, unkind, unsettling — it's too soft and too sharp, like it's pressing against her eyes in a desperate attempt to erase her sight. each step forward she takes echoes despite the lack of ground beneath her, sounding wet and distant, as though she's walking through a memory she was never supposed to revisit. she doesn't remember how she got here. she doesn't remember if she even left. she doesn't remember anything except white, white, white. endless white. white that surrounds her, creases her senses, makes everything seem somehow sacrilegious despite the color being a synonym for cleansing. she takes another step forward, heavy, like lead in her soles, weight in her skin, and then it begins — a whisper, not in her ears, but behind her eyes.

"mouthofthemountain."

the words are not spoken, but woven — at first feeling like silk slipping beneath the skin, each word unraveling inside her bones rather than her ears before it slithers through the white like veins beneath skin. hyejin shudders, lithe frame beginning to shake, dread marking her shoulders, breath catching in her throat, burning. she parts her cracked lips and tries to speak, but nothing comes — not a whisper, not even a whimper, just nothingness that seems lifeless, breathless. she feels an ache in her limbs, her trembling voice swallowed whole by something deeper, something older, and it knows her name without ever saying it.

she turns, slowly, as though suspended in time, and sees it — the wings first, too many, too wide. they stretch across the expanse, curling and unfurling like smoke in reverse. it's feathers are like bone, sharp, hanging and monstrous like teeth. past it all, embedded in the blinding bloom of those monstrous wings, centered, as though all-knowing, sits a single, unblinking eye. she stares at it, but it doesn't look at her, it looks through her — into the marrow of her fear, into the place where her name becomes nothing but a thread held between trembling fingers.

"mouthofthemountain."

hyejin feels the trepidation sink into her skin, clawing at her tendons, body screaming for her to flee, to run — and she tries, though she stumbles back, the space giving no ground, no support, as her legs no longer respond. she crumbles, knees shaking, limbs quaking as they go numb, unresponsive, her entire body feeling far away as though the winged creature had snatched the last of her strength. she winces then, the sudden light spilling from the eye like a wound opening across the world. then it moves. a wing, long and crooked and foreboding, bends at unnatural angles and reaches for her. it brushes the space beside her like a suggestion, and then pulls — not with violence, but with insistence. like gravity, maybe like fate, and her body slides across the white, silent and slow, agonizingly with no amount of fight to stop it.

"heesung," the angel breathes, and the name splits inside her like glass. like memory, like guilt — a flash of the two of them meeting at the fortune teller plays in her mind, a tarot card with a hung angel laid before them. no past, no present, no future. hyejin's mouth opens, feeling the burn of a sob bubbling at the back of her throat, but no sound comes out. she reaches backwards with her hands, twists somehow, stomach scraping against the abyss, fingers raking through nothingness, clawing at the white surrounding her — there is no resistance, no escape, and it simply repeats itself again and again and again, each repetition sharper, louder, as though spoken from inside her own lungs.

"mouthofthemountain."

she doesn't see it, but she feels it then — the wings lash forward, and the pain blooms across her back like fire made flesh. searing, tearing, all-consuming, one single strike. then another. and another. clean and deliberate. three strikes, three gashes — carved into the skin of her back like something divine trying to mock divinity itself. the sobs and the screams catch in her throat, body heaving in pain, scorched, torrid, like nothing she had ever known before. her head falls forward, chest heaving with unheard sobs, everything shattering around her entire being — but it doesn't break completely, not just yet, as another curl of wing hooks around her ankle. it's sharp, knowing, and it rotates her body, flipping her like a discarded offering.

hyejin feels her back arch on its own accord as she's dragged closer once more, blood slick across torn fabric, body weightless and limp as the blinding white floods her eyes. tears fall from them, clouding the white before clearing it altogether, and there, as the blinding light softens, she sees them. suspended from either side of the angel's wings like forgotten relics, like martyrs — kwon sera (@liveformebaby) and lim doah (@koisriver), bodies hanging limp, lifeless, skin pale, hands hanging open with palms out. their fingers are curled like they were reaching for something they never found. their eyes — so wide, so glassy, so empty — stare past her, as if still trapped in a dream that won't let go.

"mouthofthemountain."

hyejin stares, tears cascading down her cheeks, chest heaving, body breaking, silent, shaking — the eye does not look at her, it does not need to. the words continue to bleed through her like poison in prayer. the repetition continues, over and over and over again, before it fades into darkness, fades into silence. hyejin arches her back once more, pain searing, and finds everything feeling so godless, even though they're in the presence of an angel . . .

THE GARDEN SMELLS LIKE SALT AND SORROW . . . dawn has not broken, but the air is silver with mourning. hyejin wakes at the foot of the statue, body trembling — she finds herself no longer in the nightmare, but still not free from it's clutches. her body is folded in on itself, breath shuddering between choked sobs, lungs tight and painful, heart hammering against her ribcage, palms braced against damp stone slick with dew. her back sears, burns, blisters with a pain so sharp it makes her vision blur. she gasps, coming out of her stupor, shaking hands reaching behind her to graze along her flesh. when her fingers return, they are stained red — three perfect lines, too clean, too precise — like the mark of something claiming her. she doesn't understand, but she does remember. sera. doah. the wings. the eye. the words. the repetition, tucked behind her teeth, caught in her ribs, still an echo even as the nightmare ends.

the WEEPING WOMAN looms over her, expression carved in grief, gaze turned eternally eastward — she is blind, but not unknowing, as though she could see without eyes everything that had transpired, crying not for herself, but for hyejin. her body trembles, another choked sob leaving her, and she isn't sure if the presence of the statue makes her feel comforted or not. still, she folds herself further forward, pressing her forehead to the base of the stone, letting the pain wash through her — she doesn't know how she got here, and she doesn't know how she will get back, but for now all she can do is weep.

[5eraphism]

Ilya Kaminsky, from “A City Like a Guillotine Shivers on Its Way to the Neck”, Deaf Republic

[5eraphism]

continued from x with @hymnosis

“nice place, though… right? swanky.” absentmindedly, his fork scratches at his empty plate before it’s confiscated by an attentive waiter. jihoo pouts, though it quickly disappears after a quick sip of cider. “plus, i might’ve won the room lottery. not to, you know, brag or anything — have a bathroom all to myself. what about you, noona?”

HER FINGERS TWIST INTO THE FABRIC OF HER NAPKIN . . . trembling digits toying with the edge of the material as she glances toward the chandelier above — it's crystals catching the light in a way that feels almost too perfect, like the whole room is dressed in something borrowed, something pretending. hyejin wonders if she comes across that way too — like she's been staged, placed here among the masses, hopefully seeming normal and poised despite the fact she feels like she's moments away from jumping out of her skin. "i-it really is a bit much," she says softly in response, her voice nearly drowned out by the gentle clatter of plates and the low murmur of voices. "everything's so . . . polished."

hyejin tilts her head slightly, glancing toward jihoon with a small, knowing smile at his dramatic sigh. despite the unease lingering in her bones, the press of trepidation she's felt since her arrival, being able to have dinner with him makes things a little more bearable. a little less frightening. "y-you make it look effortless," she says, genuine compliment spilling from her lips. "t-the suit.. i mean."

when the conversation shifts and he mentions the room, there's a flicker of unease in her expression. "mine's connected, just a thin door between," she says gently, voice a little lower, more to herself than to him. "it's . . . a little daunting? sometimes it feels like someone's on the side, even when it's quiet." a pause, the words hanging between them. she exhales, looking back up at him, offering a small, fleeing smile. "i'm glad you don't have to worry about sharing with anyone though."

[5eraphism]

continued from x with @murmurline

"jesus christ," heesung gasps, color returning to his face, momentarily forgetting about the reunion and the cameras watching them as he lets his intended good boy dialogue slip. he looks down at the doe eyes staring almost worryingly back up at him — he tries to mentally ask her a question to see if she's in his head, but her lack of reaction gives him his answer. "you're — uh — you were the... one who wore the angel mask."

THE AIR IN THE SHOP FEELS HEAVIER THAN IT SHOULD . . . feels a little too still, like a breath held too long, like a moment frozen between the past and something that hasn't happened yet. she had only meant to linger at the entrance, let her fingers brush against the warped wood of the doorframe — one moment she had been paused in the threshold, hovering long enough just to let the weight of curiosity press against her ribcage, but that moment somehow stretches, distorts, like candlelight against old glass. something shifts, and hyejin finds herself standing here then, colliding with something solid, something warm. someone. not a stranger, but not someone quite familiar either — his name spoken in passing from the other women on set, a figure at the edges of conversation. hyejin finds herself exhaling a little shakily, the scent of wax and mugwort thick in the air, clinging to the velvet-draped tables, seeping into the very walls — it settles into her skin, into her lungs and into the space between them.

you were the one who wore the angel mask. the words settle between them like a weight, like something unwelcome being unearthed. the words should be simple, factual, but they land heavier than expected, as if naming it — naming her — might summon something that was never meant to be called back. she feels something burn at her skin, perhaps embarrassment that she had startled him, or perhaps something akin to apprehension that that was how she was being identified — she doesn't know why the words send a ripple down her spine, and her fingers curl subtly into the fabric of her sweater as though she needs to hold onto something tangible in the face of this unraveling.

"i—" her voice falters, barely audible above the hum of silence. she swallows, eyes looking up at him through her lashes before they settle down at the floorboards and come back up again. "y-yes," she tries again, voice even quieter this time, softer. "t-that was me." she shifts her weight a little, gaze drifting past him to the to the table at the center of the shop — the flickering candlelight illuminating nothing and everything all at once. the velvet cloth draped across it seems darker than it should be, pooling like ink, like a stretch of shadow, absorbing all the light that dares to touch it. there is a chair pulled out ever so slightly, as though someone had been sitting there only moments before, only to have stepped away the second they both somehow found themselves here. hyejin swallows, feeling the pressure move in against her pulse — a trick of the light, maybe, or a trick of something else.

"i'm, er- s-sorry, for startling you before. i didn't think, er," she focuses back on him, sentence starting, then stopping, the words slipping through her fingers before she can find a way to shape them into something that makes sense. what could she possibly say in this situation? that she didn't think she would have seen him here? that she didn't think she'd see anyone? that she didn't know how one second she was outside the establishment and the next she was standing here? that she didn't think she'd feel this strange, this untethered, as though something had been waiting for them both to step inside? "i, er . . . didn't think anyone else was inside," another pause, and she exhales, soft and slow, lips trembling ever so slightly before forcing a small, uncertain smile, as though trying to dispel the uneasiness of it all, trying to push away the lingering sensation that standing in this place, in this moment, doesn't feel like a coincidence at all. "i'm . . . er, hyejin, by the way."

[5eraphism]

continued from x with @dourll

"here." leeann drops the pair of shoes in front of hyejin. "you're asking to die by being caught up in this weather with your... sickness." her eyes follow the direction of blown sand, only to be met with hyejin's face once more. she doesn't notice how pale hyejin really is until she gets a good look. "...how you even made it all the way out here is beyond me."

THE WIND CARRIES SALT AND DISTANCE . . . threading through her hair like something lingering, something unwilling to let go as the ocean sways before her, so deep, so dark and so endless, pulling, pulling, and pulling, always pulling. it whispers against the shore, restless, on tenterhooks, shifting like a thing alive. the waves come together in a crescendo, and hyejin feels the salty air suspend in her lungs as the other's form comes into clear view. the memories are still so fragmented, still so hazy, misty, like the remnants of sea surrounding them, but she feels a familiar discomfort work it's way up her spine, chilling her from the inside out. she had come here seeking fresh air, a moment of peace, solitude, for space between herself and the weight pressing in from all sides, but as leeann stands before her, that space disappears — shrinks down into something small and stifling, something that curls around her ribs and refuses to let go.

of course it'd be you of all people. she barely registers the bite in the other's voice before the words start sinking in, sharp and deliberate. the wind steals the sound but not the intent, and hyejin feels it settle against her skin like cold fingers brushing along the back of her neck. it takes everything in her not to wince, and she swallows, feeling her throat tighten, gaze falling to he pair of shoes that land unceremoniously at her feet — a severed thing, impersonal, like an offering that wasn't meant to be kind. hyejin finds herself staring at them longer than she should, eyes latching onto the straps, the sand shifting beneath her, cold between her toes, as though trying to focus on becoming as small as the coarse grains scratching her skin.

" . . . t-thank you," her voice is barely there, swallowed by the wind, nothing above a whisper, but she says her gratitude nonetheless. leeann's words remind hyejin of her own foolishness — of the way her body betrays her, time and time and time again, leading her to places she doesn't remember going, slipping through the cracks of wakefulness like a ghost walking its own path. she moves, bending down as her fingers close around the straps of her shoes, her hold delicate, but firm, an attempt at steadiness even when her pulse stutters beneath her skin. she feels her surroundings begin to distort again, but exhales harshly through her nose, trying to keep her wits about her. " . . . i-i just wanted to get some air, that's all," she says gently, unsure what she could say to justify herself, unsure of what to do when the weight of the past, present and future continues to press into her bones. it all feels just too much.

"i'm sorry . . . i just- didn't . . . want to worry anyone," she tries after a small pause, a shudder running over her skin, sticky from a light sheen of sweat and the ocean air. "i . . . t-thought coming out here might be the best thing." the wind howls between them, filling the silence with something too heavy, too vast. it tugs at her clothes, her hair, like unseen hands pulling her back towards the ocean, whispering that she shouldn't leave, that she should stay, that there is something waiting beneath the waves. "th-thank you again . . . for finding my shoes . . ." hyejin swallows thickly, tilting her head up to look at the other — hesitant, nervous, worried that somehow she'll make the situation worse, make it more tense then it should be, than it has to be. she doesn't want animosity, and she tries to meet leeann's gaze, but the intensity of it, the fire lit behind confident and clear orbs, hyejin finds can't match such a flame, and instead looks away, focusing on the waves lapping at the shore. " i ... i should probably head back now."

[5eraphism]

continued from x with @4ftersunset

"i saw a few more people coming through the front, but i haven't really talked to anyone either." he shares a sheepish little smile with her. at least with hyejin, admitting to these things doesn't feel like a failure in character. "i think they said there won't be any cameras in our rooms, so honestly, i was just going to stay in mine for the rest of the night. do you need help unpacking? i have time." he releases her hand so he can take another look around the state of her room, assessing the work it'll need. "it might help you take your mind off of things?"

HIS HAND IS WARM, STEADY AND SHE HOLDS ON JUST A LITTLE LONGER THAN SHE SHOULD . . . there's something grounding about it, something that settles beneath her skin like the remnants of a fading dream. she hadn't realized how much she had missed this — the weight of something tangible, something real. it had been easier when their connection existed only in quiet, glowing words on a screen, tucked between hours of restless nights and conversations that stretched into early mornings, but now, with taejun standing here, warm and unyielding, she realizes just how far away those moments were. the air in the room shifts, pressing inward and circling around the two of them as if to remind her that this strange liminal thing between past and present is not a dream, but hyejin finds solace in the fact that she's at least not alone.

she listens as he speaks, latching onto his words in an attempt to anchor herself to something beyond the low, thrumming pulse of unease creeping beneath her ribs. it surfaces for a moment as she thinks about the cameras, the idea of constantly being watched, being recorded, as well as familiar faces she can't fully place, and about the way the walls seem to hold onto things, before it dissipates into nothingness, almost like the feel of taejun's own pulse against her skin chases it away. he's always had a way of being able to dispel these worries, drive away the darkness even when it had swallowed her whole — hyejin gives his hand a gentle squeeze in return, as though trying to convey without words how grateful she is that he's here.

when he mentions staying in his room for the remainder of the night, she can't help but want to share the same sentiments. she wonders if retreating would make things easier, if pulling away before the weight of it all becomes too much might make things a little more bearable, but then he offers — gently, without expectation — to help her unpack her own belongings. the offer brings another shy smile to her face, and she nods, softly, speaks even more quietly as he releases her hand, "that . . . would be really nice, if you don't mind," she looks towards her suitcase that's barely undone, as though pulling everything out when she had arrived would have made everything just a little too real — she wonders if maybe part of her believed she wouldn't be staying long, so unpacking too much wouldn't have been the wisest idea.

"i'd really like the company," she says then, fingers curling against the fabric of her sweater. there's something in the way she says it, something almost too soft, too hesitant like admitting she doesn't want to be alone might be too appealing to the shadows lurking beyond these four walls. "i . . . didn't bring a whole lot, just a few things," she continues, deciding it'd be best to not just stand there, and makes her way to where some sweaters sit stacked and folded, waiting to be put away into the drawers. "did you . . . find out who your neighbors are?" she asks after a pause, eyes drifting from where the two of them have settled to the adjoining bathroom. she's thankful to be able to have her own room, but the thought of sharing such a space either way makes her a little unnerved. "are you sharing with someone you know?"

[5eraphism]

@/angelichyejin1 said: What was the most difficult thing about this movie? Please take care, our angel.

⸺ replying as @/7ngelicisms . . .

hello! thank you for sending the question!

⸺ replying as @/7ngelicisms . . .

there were . . . a lot of challenges, but maybe the hardest part was never getting to finish it. it's strange, when you think about it . . . leaving something undone, like it's still waiting for you somewhere.

⸺ replying as @/7ngelicisms . . .

thank you again for your support! have a great day! :)

[5eraphism]

@/dollface_did_nothing_wrong said: so i know i haven't seen what the angel costume looks like yet BUT I BET IT WAS BOMB!! what was it like getting to play that kind of role? esp when everything around you was...not really that heavenly, u know what i mean?

⸺ replying as @/7ngelicisms . . .

hello! thank you for the question!

⸺ replying as @/7ngelicisms . . .

the costume was . . . really beautiful, but wearing it felt a little strange sometimes. acting in it felt a little strange too. i think that was kind of the point though. an angel in a place like that — i don't think it was supposed to feel right.

[5eraphism]

luda 🤍 universe photoshoot: light silver

[5eraphism]

@/peekab00 said: do you believe in the curse of the mask?

⸺ replying as @/7ngelicisms . . .

hello! thank you for sending in the question! truthfully, i don't know . . . but i think some things stay with you, even when you don't mean for them to.

[5eraphism]

@/datura did you get along with did you get alon̵̩̾ĝ̶͚ ̶̳̋w̷̮̽i̶̲͐t̴͇̓ḧ̷̺́ d̴͝ͅì̴̪d̴̳̀ ̷̖͆y̵͎̾o̷̟͑u̵͎̓ ̸̃ͅg̸̫̔ê̵͖t̴̊ͅ ̴̫͛à̷̞l̴̻̄ó̵͈n̷̠̔g̴͔͐ ̷̻͘w̶̞̓i̶̙͑ẗ̷̝́h̷͓͂ anyone in particular on set?

⸺ replying as @/7ngelicisms . . .

thank you for your question! i was lucky enough to make some really great friends on set. it helped, especially on long nights.

⸺ replying as @/7ngelicisms . . .

by the way, i think your message glitched a bit!

[5eraphism]

@/angelsxheart said: what is your most memorable moment from working on the movie?

⸺ replying as @/7ngelicisms . . .

hello! thank you for the question! i think the most memorable moment for me was there was one night where we were filming well past midnight. the crew had gone quiet between takes, and i remember just standing there thinking everything was suddenly so still and so quiet. it kind of felt like the space suddenly had stories of it's own . . . almost like it had nothing to do with us. i think that was the first time the film felt alive for me — like it was waiting to be finished.

⸺ replying as @/7ngelicisms . . .

i'm sorry, i'm not sure if that answer makes sense or what you were looking for but . . . that's something that is really memorable for me!

[5eraphism]

continued from x with @rottingc0re

"dinner felt like it just wouldn't fucking end, though, so i'm hoping these were actually worth stealing, after getting through all of that." it's on an exhale, eyes flickering around for cameras like a second rate habit he's just happened to pick up, conscious now of them, what they see, what they hear, where they watch.

THE CLINK OF SILVERWARE AND THE HUM OF DISTANT CONVERSATION . . . it all feels far away, like echoes from another world. the air settles heavy, pressing in on the edges of the room, thick with something unspoken, something unresolved — lingering, watching, waiting, and biding it's time before being unveiled. hyejin had felt the pressure since she had arrived, trembling form gracing the ballroom with the quiet weight of it all curling into her chest. it was a pressure she just couldn't shake despite her best efforts, despite the mantra of it'll be okay, it'll be okay, repeating and replaying over and over and over again in her head. there was something unsettling about the whole thing, something that twisted like thorns into her ribcage, pricking at her with each step she took to her seat at the table, with each face she found staring at her from across the way that she still couldn't quite place despite the fog slowly, but surely, lifting, again and again and again.

the dinner had felt like it had gone on for an eternity — each moment blurring into the next, each peal of laughter like a distant, hallowed sound. she could feel her pulse racing beneath her skin during each exchange of pleasantries, feeling her shoulders shrink at every lingering gaze from across the room — it's only now, when she slips into the night, the cold biting at her skin, does she realize she had been holding her breath. the voices that had been as dizzying as her vertigo spells finally fading into an unnatural hush and the distant murmur of the party fades behind her, swallowed in the darkness, leaving only the weight of her own thoughts. the world out here is quieter, but somehow, she still feels like something is watching, like something is lurking just beyond the edges of her vision. so, when byeonghun calls to her, she doesn't expect to hear her name, doesn't expect to find him there, stepping into her space with that half-quirked smile that always feels like it carries more than it should.

"you stole them?" the words come out at the tail end of a gentle laugh, and as he leads them towards the amphitheater with stolen desserts in hand, hyejin thinks this might have been the first time she's laughed since arriving — or maybe, might have been the first time she's even laughed in a while. she offers her thanks as he shoulders the door open, the two of them stepping inside as the glow of the screen wraps around them like a veil — it casts long, haunting shadows across the floor, but the shadows here seem a little less unnerving than all the others. as the two of them carefully cross the room towards the unclaimed spot, hyejin takes a quick glance at the other attendees, all with yawns stifled behind their hands and eyes drooping as they settle in against the pillows. she's caught between a gentle swirl of envy and anxiousness, wishing she and byeonghun could so easily count sheep, but knowing the dangers they would both face if they did.

"thank you," she says softly, settling in as her fingers brush the chilled glass holding the desert. the condensation beads against her skin, but it's not the cold that holds her — instead, she feels his warmth, his presence, and for the first time all evening, hyejin can feel the smallest amount of tension leave her shoulders. "dinner was . . . something. maybe, a lot, i think. maybe, too much, and a little . . . overwhelming," she admits, trying to find the words as she watches him glance toward the shadows, his gaze flicking towards the places where the cameras might hide. it's a habit he can't shake, this constant wariness, one she knows well, knowing the tension that coils around him like a shadow, always there, always waiting. it stirs something inside her, something that feels like an echo of her own unease — an affinity that runs deeper than words, deeper than they both care to admit.

"i'm glad it's over now though," she continues, gently, softly, as though she doesn't want the hidden equipment to pick up on her true thoughts. she takes the spoon and digs into the dessert, a tart sweetness dancing across her taste buds at the taste. it brings another soft smile to her features and she tilts her head up towards him, unnerved by their situation, but somehow at least comfortable in their shared closeness. "it's good," she assures him, before the smile grows ever so slightly, widening just the tiniest bit. "i'm . . . not sure if it was worth enduring the pain and suffering though," she feels the softest bit of laughter bubble at the back of her throat before it suspends itself so as not to disturb the other patrons. another spoonful reaches her lips, "we might be the last ones standing for the marathon," she says gently, before taking another bite, "but that's . . . really nothing new, is it?" she takes a second to look at him fully, meeting his eyes, seeing the flicker of recognition in his gaze, the unspoken understanding that lingers between them. "it's . . . really nice to see you," a pause, voice so soft, so genuine, a whisper of something so true that it might be able to chase away the lingering shadows. "i'm glad you're here."

[5eraphism]

Anna de Noailles, from "The Offering To Nature" in Poems

[5eraphism]

❪  ✦  ❫ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆               ⸺ 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 : the faint echo of bells with no chime ⸺ 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 : ʚ crystal balls fogged from the inside ɞ ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 ( @murmurline )

PALM READINGS, FATE UNVEILED . . . the sign sways gently in the breeze, its glided lettering catching in the dim, uneven glow of the cafe's lanterns. the words seem heavier than they should, almost like an invitation that she isn't entirely sure was meant for her. hyejin shifts her weight from one foot to the other, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth — she doesn't step inside, instead opting to linger at the threshold, fingers brushing against the chipped wood of the doorframe. her touch is hesitant, as though feeling for something unseen. the air here is thick — perhaps too thick, overwhelming, laden with incense and something older, something that settles into her lungs like dust in forgotten corners. she exhales slowly, feeling the blood beginning to rush to her head — for some reason, like so many other locations in this town, this place reminds her of echoes that never quite fade, whispered things spoken too close to her ears.

she isn't sure why she stopped, only that the moment she had seen the sign, something in her chest had tightened — a pull, subtle but insistent, like a snake coiling around her ribs. hyejin tells herself that she's stopped purely out of curiosity, out of interest, nothing more and nothing less, but something calls out to her, older than superstition, something she refuses to give shape. it beckons her closer, somehow seemingly waiting, wishing, and wanting. she shakes her head, trying to dispel the unease creeping it's way into her bones, trying to will away the dread hanging over her. it feels too unsettling — maybe, she thinks, it's the way that the windows flicker with faint candlelight, making her question if the shadows she sees reflecting in the glass are her own.

silence fills the space, a push and a pull she isn't sure she wants to obey as she considers going inside. the weight of it grows, thick as the cold pressing against her skin, and hyejin finds herself stepping back after considering things a moment too long — just one step, enough to think, enough to breathe. she doesn't make it far though, as she collides with something — the impact is sudden, startling, solid warmth when she had thought there should be nothing there at all. the breath she had meant to release stays lodged in her rips, pulse throbbing against her wrist as she slowly, hesitantly, tilts her head up. she isn't sure who she had been expecting to see, or if she had been expecting to see anyone at all, but when she looks up, she finds herself staring into the face of . . . "er, p-park . . . h-heesung?"