Destined Dirges

“Seems like a new batch has come in. Let’s take a look and see who we have here …”

There’s a soft chuckle, then an acknowledging nod. “How unfortunate.”

A dull thrumming signals the emergence of a door made of pure light right before the figure’s very eyes as he holds up his handheld device up to his mask with a lazy grip. 

“Let’s begin.”

Shatter.

Aurors don’t date. Especially not each other.

This is something you never understood.

Hand still draped over you, Nayeon groans into your side as she senses the loss of her share of the blanket from above her bare back. “Ngh … babe? Why are you already awake?”

Your lips are tense, hand already reaching out for your wand by the bedside table. “Just … just some late night insomnia. I’ll be fine.”

But she knows this is a lie, which is why she’s already climbing on top of you, pulling away the blanket for good and taking its place above your torso. Nayeon’s warmth smothers you as she leans in with a half-awake grin. “Still on edge? The Ministry sent a team to clean out the rest of that rebel camp, babe. I’m pretty sure there’s no one left.”

You glance down at Nayeon’s upturned face, part her messy hair, and sink your lips against hers, taking in her scent—a mix of faded musk, cheap inn fabric conditioning, and black licorice. “It’s just … it’s too good to be true, baby. The reports said the rebels had enough firepower among themselves to stand up to half a dozen aurors—.”

“—And that’s why I’m here.”

“But Nayeon, think about it: between the two of us, they were easy pickings,” you raise, licking the front of your teeth as you glance away for a moment to not be distracted by her disheveled beauty. “It doesn’t add up … it really doesn’t.”

Groaning, Nayeon drops her chin in the dip across your collarbone and huffs. “You’re just worried the Ministry will find out about us, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes, hand combing through her hair. “No amount of jinxes and charms could hide half the shit we do in your office.”

“You say that like you have any regrets,” she jests in reply, drumming her own fingers against the side of your torso. “Even when Jihyo walked in on us, you didn’t—.”

There’s a knock on the door. Three raps.

“Are you expecting someone?” Nayeon asks, sitting up in a heartbeat. It’s all practiced—the way she smoothens out her appearance to avoid arousing any suspicions. “Babe?”

Your fingers are curling around your wand now. 

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Remember the illusion we casted over this place when we got here?” you remind her, shifting out of bed and onto your own two bare feet now. Wand at the ready, you point it at the door.

“Yeah, and?”

“Baby, that was to keep muggles out. So …”

Before Nayeon can even put two and two together, sparks fly from the doorknob as the door bursts open. Right in the doorway is a hooded man donning a reinforced skull-patterned mask on him, wand pointing at the both of you.

“GET DOWN!”

Nayeon leaps over the bed and squats behind in time to avoid the dark green burst of spells that quickly came flying her way. You thrust and flick your wand to slam the Death Eater against the inn’s wall before reaching for Nayeon’s own wand and tossing it back to her.

With both of you now equipped, you release your hold on the dark wizard before rejoining Nayeon behind the bed, who’s now dressed in some of her auror robes. “I don’t know who the bloody hell you are … or how you found us … but you’re not getting away from here alive.”

A sharp and shrill cackle bursts from beneath the Death Eater’s mask as he shakes his head. “Oh, neither will you—.”

All it takes is a simple disarming spell from Nayeon to leave the arrogant Death Eater unarmed. As his wand clatters and rolls out of your room, he feigns a pout with a slump of his body before reaching for something in one of his pouches.

It’s a compass. 

“What—?”

You tackle Nayeon away from the Death Eater’s line of sight as he chucks the spinning compass your way. You take one last glance at the woman’s scared face before mustering a smile.

“Leave this to me.”

But Nayeon isn’t an auror for nothing. When she senses you’re about to reach for the compass mid-air, she launches off the hardwood floor and reaches for it too.

Blip.

Like being hooked by your belly-button and yanked across the folds of space, nausea overwhelms your mind and body as your entire world spins. But you don’t let go. You don’t dare let go as Nayeon herself is holding on for dear life right beside you too.

Once the compass has brought you to its undisclosed assigned destination, you quickly right yourself on your knees and immediately hear the soft crunch of dried leaves and twigs. But in this moment, you notice something rather alarming.

It’s cold. It’s immensely and eerily cold.

Spitting on the ground, Nayeon fans herself as she stands up. “Bloody portkey. The Ministry’s been slacking tracing down all these unapproved—.”

You pull a hand over her mouth before she can say another word. Eyes widened, she’s about to fight you until she hears it too.

Wispy. Breathy. Hollow.

Descending from the dead of night all around you and obscuring what little moonlight filtered through the canopy of trees, tens upon hundreds of wraith-like creatures begin swarming your current position, darting about in the air, orbiting your position.

Your thumb presses so hard into the wood of your wand that it nearly chips it. But it’s Nayeon who acknowledges these dastardly beings. “Dementors … All of them …”

This was all a setup. To lower your guard. Before they pull off this final trap.

When you move to raise your wand and cast a simple spell for light, Nayeon pushes you aside and faces the swarm of Dementors with her head held high. “Go. See if the portkey’s reversible. I’ll hold them off.”

“Nayeon, you’re fucking insane. We could barely handle ten of these things back at the Azkaban outbreak. How do you expect to—?”

She glances at you from over her shoulder and forces a smile. “We’re not both going to be  making it out of this one—you know it—.”

“Nayeon—.”

“And I was the one who suggested we take the inn for the night instead of heading back to the Ministry right away—.”

“Nayeon, please …”

“They sent me to help you, remember? Something about half a dozen aurors, right?”

Your voice is swallowed whole by the constrictions around your throat. All you can do is shake your head as she faces the swarm with her own wand raised now as well. “It’s been nice knowing you, hoobae. Leave the rest to me.”

And before you can even embrace her one final time, she casts out loud.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Like a beacon shattering the still of night, her wand steadily emits rings of bright light and energy that assumes the form of her spirit—of her soul.

A herd of rabbits.

Each of these corporeal creatures bounce around the air, chasing after these wraiths like the most innocuous bunch of predators, all while your beloved strains herself at the limbs to maintain the spell.

You inch closer to her. One step at a time. And while all you can see is the streaks of light against her tensed face, you can almost imagine the scenes playing in her head.

Your first meeting by her desk. Your first mission together. Your first unsolicited kiss underneath the spiral stairwell.

Your first admission of obsession. Your first tryst in the Minister’s personal chambers. Your first view of her unadorned form next to you—all over you—in bed.

But it is not enough.

“N-Nayeon …?”

From behind her, you witness as her patronus is not even enough to perform a continuous barricade around the both of you. More than twenty Dementors now rake and claw and howl close to her face in a desperate attempt to be the one to Kiss her.

And when you see the last light of her eyes flicker out, her wand slips from her palm as she turns and falls, and you catch the penultimate view of Nayeon just as the last of her soul is ripped from her body.

And she’s smiling.

Aurors don’t date. Especially not each other.

You understand this now.

As you stutter over your words trying to cast your own patronus, all you can think of is the vegetative form of your lover laid askew across the forest floor.

Cold. She’s nothing but cold.

And with a piercing wail, you shriek in terror as your mind is suddenly clouded by darkness and despair.

The last thing you see before your vision fades is a pair of combat boots stepping over Nayeon’s corpse.

Shatter.

“We … we’re almost there Chaewon … I-I can see it … I can see the light …”

But there’s no response.

Clutching your lyre that raps against your side with each pained step you take, you find the lack of her response to be mortifying. “Ch-Chaewon …? Chaewon …?”

No response. Your voice simply echoes across the walls of this narrow tunnel.

Through the darkness, you grip your lyre tighter, and immediately, you are reminded of the scabbing wounds across your arm. Running your opposite palm over them, wincing at the prodding of tender flesh ripped apart by Cerberus upon your arrival to the Underworld weeks ago, you clench your other first and shake your head.

You need to continue. Onwards. Forwards.

You have to.

Hunching forward, you attempt to steel your resolve and focus only at the mote of light before the both of you. The exit to this place. The symbol of your salvations. 

The final trial.

You close your eyes and picture her. Although you aren’t allowed to see her, the god of the Underworld never said you couldn’t remember her.

You recall Chaewon swinging leisurely, draped in vines and folded branches, listening to your tunes and melodies.

You recall Chaewon holding the large of your cheeks, wiping away the dirt, sweat, and grime accumulated over hours of busking across the streets of Athens.

You recall Chaewon fleeing from her assailant, screaming out your name to the heavens, and how heavy each footfall of hers was in a mad dash to make it back home—to you.

You still remember how grating her shriek was. How chilling the slithering of the viper was. How loud her poisoned and lifeless body falling to the ground was.

Then you’re brought back to the present over how silent her footsteps are now.

Surging with a newfound confidence, you break into a sprint.

You shove away the souls of the dead humming elegies in your ears. You push past the heat and darkness sweltering at the outskirts of the abyss of Tartarus. Instead, you run towards the warm glow of the overworld sun reaching out to you like it just might pull you out of this wretched oblivion.

And once you make it out, you howl in victory at the sky—one hand clutching your lyre, the other still firmly grasping Chaewon’s own hand as you yank her through.

Then, you turn around.

“Chaewon, we finally—!”

“Chae … won …?”

You’re too eager. Too stubborn. Too impatient.

For Chaewon still has one foot swallowed by the darkness as you dare to gaze upon her. 

“No … n-n-no NO! Please—that was a mistake. I-I-I shouldn’t have looked—I shouldn’t have looked too soon—!”

But your pleas are folly that fall on deaf ears. For the gods do not mete out dealings they do not intend to uphold.

As you claw at Chaewon’s ghost fading away from existence, burning into your mind the  final gasp of fear she releases before being drawn back to the Fields of Asphodel, your tears blind you from the sight of a masked figure smiling through the darkness of the tunnel.

Smiling at you.

Shatter.

“Are you always going to catch me when I fall?”

You snort, hands still stuffed into the pockets of your bomber jacket. “Koko, are you crazy? Of course. Every time—.”

As if to test you, she stops in her tracks and leans backwards—not enough to fall hard, but just enough to scare your unsteady heart—making you reach out for her, slamming your elbows and knees into the boardwalk.

Breaking her fall, you glower at her giggling face. “Was that … ugh … necessary?”

For a moment, there’s silence, and all you can hear is the gentle breeze whispering behind the folds of your ear and the steady cadence of the waves reaching out for the sandy shore.

“I just wanted to know!” she exclaims, staring up at you with puckered lips. Rolling your eyes like the tide, you lean down and peck her on the mouth. “You’re hopeless.”

“So are you.”

Koko shoots up, dusts herself, and begins skipping further down the wharf. “And what if I~?”

She feigns a gasp and ‘trips’ forward on her own foot. You know you shouldn’t indulge your idiotic girlfriend, but you’d rather hurt yourself than see her hurt herself over this stupidity.

Once again, you find yourself crashing into the dusty wood that smells way too heavily of the sea and other godforsaken organisms caked between the planks. “Koko … I don’t know how many times I can keep doing this for you.”

Pouting, she’s quicker to get up now, even helping you stand up this time. “Ok, ok. Was that too much?”

“Just a little,” you lie, not wanting to hurt her feelings—especially not when she’s giving you those dumfounded little puppy eyes again. “Nothing that some time together with you in bed later can’t fix.”

Biting her lip, she wagged her head from side to side as if pondering something before skipping off to the far end of the walkway. “Then I better make you earn it.”

“What?”

Standing at the very edge, hands and arms outstretching to the side, she beams at you with a crinkle in her nose. “You said every time, oppa~. Well? What are you waiting for?”

She doesn’t say the remaining words as she dips backwards and into the water. Instead, she mouths it upon her fall. 

Catch me.

You’re racing. 

Tendons flaring, heels lifting, toes curling.

You’re reaching.

Fingers slicing through the air, shoulder rolling out as far as it can, palm extending towards her.

You’re screaming.

Waters withdrawing from the shore, jagged rocks and debris revealing themselves across the coast, blood bursting like a geyser and splattering across them.

You can’t breathe.

All you can do is hear faint footsteps and laughter repeating in your head as you stare down at the broken remains of your girlfriend.

And she still has that stupid smile on her.

“Should have caught her sooner,” is what you hear from a voice behind you, but you don’t even clock it. Don’t even want to hear it. Because all you manage to do is fall to your knees, pull every last strand of your hair out, and scream.

Just scream.

Shatter.

“Take me to the rooftop. I wanna see the world when I stop breathing.”

Bzzt bzzt.

You ignore it and continue hunching over your laptop. The blue light should be blinding your dry eyes through the darkness of your dingy apartment, but you’re used to it.

You’re used to many things actually.

You’re used to scraping through your wallet to see if you have enough to even buy cup noodles for dinner. You’re used to burying yourself indoors, skipping showers days at a time, with the sad excuse of needing to ‘lock in’ and finish your deliverables for the week. But most of all, you’re used to getting rung up one in a while, on nights like this one, nights that drip like molasses against the sands of time, nights when you’d rather be nowhere and anywhere but here, nights when you’re brilliantly reminded of how pathetic your life really is.

Nights when you are made aware once again that she’s gone.

That she’s gone.

And you intend for it to stay that way.

“Turning blue. Tell me love is endless—don’t be so pretentious.”

“Leave me. Like you do.”

“Like you do.”

Bzzt bzzt. Bzzt bzzt. 

Fuck—you lost track of what item you’re supposed to be tagging. You run your hands through your hair and slam a fist into your creaky desk. Fucking hell, you spent three hours just reorganizing all that data that your co-worker fucked the hell up. You aren’t even supposed to be working today. You aren’t even supposed to be doing his share of the project. And yet here you are, assigned this off-loaded work because everyone at the office knows you had nothing better to do—nowhere better to be.

No one else to be with.

“Taste me, the salty tears on my cheek. That’s what a year-long headache does to you.”

“I’m not okay. I feel so scattered. Don’t say I’m all that matters.”

“Leave me. Deja vu.”

Bzzt bzzt. Bzzt bzzt. Bzzt bzzt.

Ok, third time’s the fucking charm. Who the fuck is this—?

Oh. Oh it’s her.

It’s her.

You may have deleted her from your contacts, but you never blocked her. You still remember that string of digits. Who it represents. The photo it used to hold—a candid shot of a petite little lounge singer with lips far too red and with a stature far too minuscule for her personality. The weight its notifications used to press on you each time you received one—received them.

It’s Yuri. She’s calling you. Again.

You take a deep breath and sigh. How long must this go on?

You’ve seen it all before. Can’t help but feel like it’s routine at this point. Her little post-breakup choreography.

The surprise fight—Yuri initiates the split, catching you off-guard once again, brings up all the points of unaccounted for friction in your relationship, feeling unappreciated here, stifled by your lack of support there, before ultimately exploding into an argument that officially ends it all.

The voracity—cans of grape soda, wrappers that once held tuna mayo onigiri, swaths of junk food lined up like landfills, anything to soothe her burning raw nerves and the initial impact of realizing that she is, once again, unfortunately single. Well, ‘single’.

The meltdown—all fiery and theatrical, rocking up to your apartment some nights just to scream at you and berate you from the front door, dragging herself to your apartment other nights just to weep and plead and crumble all across your welcoming mat, struggling between this push and pull of wanting you back because you’re all she’s had and she’s all you’ve got and wanting you gone because god forbid if the cure to her melancholy is you then she would very much rather drink muriatic acid and solve her problems that way.

Then this—the late night call.

How many times has it been? Three? Five? Nine?

Thirteen. You and Yuri have gone through this routine thirteen separate times before.

And you swore to yourself you wouldn’t add a fourteenth run—not anymore.

Not anymore.

“If you need me … wanna see me … better hurry …”

“‘Cause I’m … leaving … soon …”

Bzzt bzzt. Bzzt bzzt. Bzzt bzzt. Bzzt bzzt.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. And against your better senses, your finger comes flying towards the green button on your phone’s screen like it’s a homing intercontinental ballistic missile, but you stop. You stop yourself. Temper your senses a little bit. Regain some composure. Win yourself back from the sorrow.

You’re not going to answer that call. 

Instead, you stretch your arms up, crack your knuckles, loosen up the knots in your lower back, and sigh. Returning to your work laptop, you continue tweaking the models and algorithms you have yet to account for and experiment with, heading back to your regular scheduled programming spanning the rest of the evening.

So even when your phone buzzes, and buzzes, and buzzes, you now don’t even so much as give it enough time of day to even consider ending the call.

You just let it ring. And ring. And ring.

“Sorry … can’t save me now. Sorry … I don’t know how. Sorry … there’s no way out. But down …”

“Call my friends and … tell them I love them … and I’ll miss them … but … b-but … but …”

Dressed in her fitted bodycon, the singer bows down to her waist, hands pressed into her soft and small stomach, before rising up with tears and mascara running down her cheeks.

Sniffling, she excuses herself from the space of the lounge and hurries to a nearby restroom to check her phone.

Slamming the stall door behind her, pressing against it, she flicks through her notifications.

There are none.

There are none.

Clutching her phone against her chest, she chuckles faintly, neck muscles straining with each exhale, as she gazes up at the faint yellow hue of the restroom light.

“I guess … I guess that’s that. I guess … the show’s finally over.”

The next morning, just as you’re about to head down the front steps of your building, a suited man on a bike pelts you with a roll of newspaper.

Wincing and rubbing your temple, you unfurl the front pages and stare right at the flag for the obituary section.

Jo Yuri. Twenty-four. Amateur singer. Died via asphyxiation in her personal suite.

It’s the middle of summer, but it begins to rain—all over the news.

Shatter.

“OPPA, I CAN’T!”

“No, you can—you fucking can. Grab my hand Stella!”

Reaching for her slender fingers that nearly slip away from you because of your slippery palms, you force yourself to drag Stella along with you as you race through the scattered aftermath of the theme park.

In the distance, you see the others helping each other cross over the twenty-foot tall fence. Jiwoo’s at the top now and is climbing down the other side while the rest of the girls swarm her at the base ready to catch her should she fall.

Clenching your fists, you and Stella both hurry for the fence. Even when she lets go of your hand, you huff and you heave, and you leap over the final overturned car and use it as a booster to quickly crawl up the fence like a deranged spider fleeing from the rain.

But once you hop down the other side of the fence and the other girls finally receive you with relieved embraces, you glance up hoping to see Stella descending shortly behind you.

But she isn’t there.

“St-Stella …?”

Your eyes widen when you see her across the other side of the fence. You beat your fist against the wire and scold her. “STELLA! STELLA GET BACK HERE. GET OVER HERE! GET—.”

You don’t know what the hell this girl is doing—she’s looking aimlessly around her, patting up and down her body as if in search for something. “W-W-Wait, oppa, I-I-I lost it.”

“Lost what? For crying out loud, just get—!”

“THE KEYCHAIN YOU GAVE ME!”

Whipping restlessly about, she glances behind her—at the trail you two took to get here—and points at something just outside your vision. “I-It’s there! Hold on, oppa, let me just get it.”

“Stella … Stella!”

But the girl’s insistent. She’d rather trade her safety in a heartbeat than lose that stupid keychain you gave her when you were kids. Why does she even care so much about it? You can just buy her a new one. You might not be able to find the exact kitten design, but you’re confident it wouldn’t be hard to find a replica. “Stella, please, hurry up and—!”

A loud roar thundered overhead, rattling everything between the keychain on the ground and the fence everyone else is pressed up against.

Clutching the broken keepsake against her chest, Stella turns towards the noise and gulps.

Turning the corner onto her path, a large bloodied Tyrannosaurus rex stomps over an ice cream cart and flattens it against the ground. Whipping its tail, it knocks over one of the last remaining operational lampposts in the vicinity, plunging the area in a haze of darkness.

You rattle your hand against the fence. Whether it’s to attract the dinosaur’s attention and distract it or to shake Stella awake from her frozen state you aren’t really sure. All you know is that someone has to try something—someone has to do something. Anything

When the other girls join you, beckoning out for Stella, all you lot can do is watch as the living fossil bares its teeth and slobber before the poor frightened girl, who now finally found the courage to move.

Stella turns around, clutching the broken keychain in her hand, and smiles at you. “I’m s-sorry … oppa … In the end … I-I-I was still a burden to you … to everyone …”

“Stella …?”

“But not … not anymore … Not anymore.”

Behind the dinosaur, you catch a faint glimpse of a masked figure dressed to the nines in combat armor and paddings. You wave your hand up in the air towards him, trying to call his attention. “H-Help us! Help her—save her! Please! Please …! Please …?”

But in the blink of an eye, the figure’s gone.

Looping the keychain around her fourth finger like a ring, Stella kisses the bent figure of the kitten dangling by the chain and raises her chin up against the beast. “D-Don’t … don’t look away. Just look at me.”

Clearing her throat, she nods and springs right between its legs. “JUST LOOK AT ME!”

“STELLA!”

She may not be the brightest bulb in the batch, but you swear upon your life that as you witness this tiny girl run between the legs of a massive t-rex, you realize she’s got one of the biggest hearts you’ve ever seen.

So when you finally hear her scream, and whine, and whimper, before finally hearing her voice fade to silence, you glance away, fingers still gripping the fence, sweat and blood from your hands still dripping down your wrists.

You don’t even register how the other girls are pulling you away from the fence. You don’t even realize that the apex predator is now headed your way. You don’t even observe how your pursuer is about to breach through the confinement of its prison here at the theme park.

All you can hear in your head is the loud crunch of bone and the sharp tingle of a chain snapping.

Shatter.

“Hey, I … we don’t have much time.”

Skipping the pleasantries and formalities, you’ve forsaken your pride and dignity as well by heaving yourself over the balcony and crashing onto the polished marble of Leeseo’s room without a hint of grace.

There’s a gasp from her somewhere there, likely behind a gloved hand or two, but she’s quick to help you up and dust off your tunic. “Oppa? What are you doing here? I told you we can’t meet tonight—.”

“I … I had to. I have to … see you. Tonight.”

Holding her hands out before her and resting them atop the crown of her waist, the princess offers you a little curtsy then allows you to speak. “I … They found out.”

“About what?” Leeseo asks, her accent thick and undeniably of nobility.

“About us.”

You hear footsteps from outside rushing seemingly towards the direction of the princess’s personal chambers. Both of you glance to the door before shifting over to each other. You two know that the dinner isn’t until two hours from now. There should be no reason for any of the royal guards to be heading to Leeseo’s room.

Pressing a dainty pair of fingers to her temple, Leeseo struts back and forth across her room. “How … How did this even happen? W-We kept everything under wraps. We stuck to the schedule and followed the rotation of the guards. I-I-I even refrained from telling the king and queen about—.”

As the footsteps grew louder, you clutch Leeseo’s gloved hands in yours and tug on them, grounding her. She swaps from your combined hands, to your twitching lips, before finally settling on your unfocused eyes.

“Leeseo … we need to end this. We need to stop this now.”

“No, I—.”

“You can use me as an excuse. A-As a scapegoat, your highness,” you continue, explaining your poorly thought masterplan. “It’s why I came here. Let the guards burst in, persecute me, accuse me of trespassing and threatening the heir to the throne. And then … and then I’ll make my escape.”

“Oppa, don’t. W-We can still—.”

“And once I’m out of your hair … for good … you keep on, ok? Keep playing your role. As the princess. As a leader. As the strong and beautiful woman I know you to be. Ok?”

Leeseo shakes her head, and you’re uncertain what’s trembling harder—her or the integrity of her door. The guards are beating against the latter now demanding to be let in.

You tap the back of Leeseo’s palms and bring her attention right back to you. “We … we weren’t going to last anyway. Our fates …”

You hold up your wrist, and while she hesitates at first, Leeseo holds up hers, pressing it side-by-side against yours.

In moments, you witness your threads of fate unfurling from your forearms. One is blue, the other a dark red. They snake around each other, seeking to intertwine and parley and envelop, but ultimately, they cannot stay together for longer than but a few meager seconds before needing to unravel.

Sighing, you force a smile up at her. “See? We aren’t destined for each other. And … and you know what happens if we keep pushing it any further.”

Leeseo is deathly silent now, for she’s blissfully aware of what will transpire when two people who are forbidden to be in union force against the threads of fate and insist on making it so.

Death.

A boot tears a hole through the princess’s door, but it strikes you as odd. You’ve never seen the guard wear thick and heavy boots such as this one. But you don’t let it capture your mind. Instead, you return to Leeseo and shake her by the shoulders.

“This is for the best. I … I’m just an everyday cobbler who happened to make you laugh a little too hard on a rough day. I’m sure … I’m sure you’ll meet many other people out there who … who deserve you more than I do. But thank you, Lee Hyunseo. Thank you for—.”

Mwah.

You’ve never kissed anyone before. You’ve never even kissed Leeseo on the cheek. So while you fully expect your face to heat up and flush from your lover’s sudden boldness, your heart is immediately taken over by dread. “W-W-Wait … Leeseo, you …?”

Leeseo smiles, tears streaking down her face before they turn into glass and shatter against the marble. “I … I didn’t think it would happen this fast …this soon … but … I guess we’re here, oppa.”

Your palms quiver against her elbows. You catch her before she can stumble, and when you both take a look at her feet beneath her dress, you see that they too have turned into glass.

As Leeseo leans on you, the curse of fate stretching up to her knee now, turning everything in between transparent, you caress her silken hair and allow her to rest her cheek into the crook of your neck like she always would.

“Leeseo …”

But she shakes her head, hushes you with a finger to your lips, and draws you in, pressing your foreheads together.

“It’s alright, oppa … It’s going to be alright …”

You cannot believe that. You cannot in any good faith believe that. “Leeseo, you’re … you’re dying …”

The defiant princess chuckles once more, and with her last bated breath, whispers softly to you. “You, my love, have given me centuries and millennia within the brief days we’ve been together. And since then, my life has never been fuller because of you.”

“Leeseo!”

“Thank you for showing me the world beyond the four walls of this castle.”

“L-Leeseo, I-I-I …”

“Thank you for bringing me warmth and refuge in the darkest of times.”

“Lee- … Leeseo …”

“And thank you … thank you, thank you, thank you … for … the gift … of … being loved … by …”

The sentence never gets to finish. As the curse races up her neck and claims her voice, you watch as the last of her face and hair are now turned transparent and crystalline.

You watch as your lover turns into a statue of pure glass.

The guards burst in now, and everything happens so fast—way too fast.

They wrestle you, pin you to the wall, pry you away from her—or at least, what used to be her. But they’re careless. And they’re unwieldy. And they are too idiotic to realize that the princess they are meant to protect is right before their very eyes.

Because one of them bumps what remains of her with his hip and sends it tumbling over to the side.

Shattering.

And as you stare with bloodshot eyes at the fractured fractals of her frozen visage, you can’t help but feel a melding in your gut as you curse at the fates beyond this lifetime, pushing with what little strength you have left to break free from the grasp of the royal guards, and leap for the pieces of her.

Tucking her remnants in your arms, holding her against your chest, you step over the balcony and leap.

“You’re not going anywhere … without me.”

Not without me.

Shatter.

“Hey you.”

Dahyun welcomes herself on the set and plops down into the large armchair across you. Crossing her legs, she leans back and lets out a deep sigh, taking her shades off and letting them dangle beside her.

“Ya … when did you get here?”

She pouts, and you realize you could have worded that better, so you rub your drying eyes until you’re properly awake before sauntering over to her.

Hovering over her, you notice her inching her face away. “You came all this way to whine? And here I thought we could spend some much needed quality time together.”

She only looks at you when you pinch her cheek. After catching her off-guard like that, you can’t help but tease her for the little squeal she just made. “Hey you too. I missed you.”

“I missed you more, oppa,” she mutters, her small hands warming yours as she caresses your weary palms. “I thought I’d surprise you. Seems like it wasn’t very hard to do so.”

You shrug, gesturing back to the rest of the living room set you’re both in. “The shoot was extended by a few more days. There were some … problems … with the main leads. Didn’t get along very well outside of their roles. It’s a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

Biting her lip and stifling her laugh, Dahyun places her palms against your cheeks to warm them up. “You look exhausted. When was the last time you slept, oppa?”

As she watches you count the days like you’re counting sheep, she pouts harder and tugs at your arms. “You should take a break. Want to come grab lunch with me?”

“Hold on a second,shouldn’t you be recording right now? Or did you not … did you not get the track?”

A wave of anxiety washes over you. You promised Dahyun that you’d convince the music team for your film to consider her for the OST. Although you would have much preferred to have her be one of the actresses with you on set—even if it was just a minor role—this was the least you could do to help boost your girlfriend’s career.

To help get closer to her.

Pausing the conversation for a second, Dahyun whips out her phone and scrolls to her recent Instagram story. “Tada~. See that, oppa? Just finished recording! The producers loved it, and they were really excited to get it all edited and mixed properly in time for your—.”

Dahyun lets out a scream.

“D-Dahyun-ah, are you ok? What the hell was that?” you ask as Dahyun leapt off the couch and hid behind it, face contorting in fear and despair, scrambling to put her shades back on. But after scoping the scene and finally calming herself down, she rubs her forehead and turns a dark shade of red. “S-Sorry, oppa … that was embarrassing.”

You squeeze her wrists together. “What’s wrong? Are you … are you alright?”

“I just … thought I saw someone come in. It was just … just an overreaction, I guess.”

You know that’s an understatement. 

Dahyun’s been facing a severe wave of extremely parasocial fans lately—sasaengs. Last month, someone sent a letter soaked in anthrax to their dorms. Last week, someone got a recording of her while she was showering after practice. Just the other day, she bumped into someone who tried to propose to her in the middle of a busy street.

You can only imagine what it’s like for someone like her to be experiencing all of those overwhelming things.

So, you let out a deep sigh and try to change the conversation. “You said something about lunch? How about we go grab some then? My treat.”

You watch as the fear in her eyes flickers into something else. “Yeah … yeah, that sounds good, oppa.”

“The cafeteria over at studio fifteen’s really good I heard. I’ve never been, so … how about we grab a meal there?”

Dahyun crinkles her nose and shakes her head. “Mmm, maybe not actually.”

“Maybe not …?”

“I would have said yes in a heartbeat if you paid more attention to me,” she sighs with a roll of her eyes. And in that very moment, you locked the fuck in to scan her entire form, trying to figure out what was new or what changed with her outfit today. “Mhm, I thought so, oppa. And here I thought you would have noticed.”

“Is it … the um … the necklace you’re wearing? That seems new.”

“New?” she groans, tugging on the chain. “Chaeyoung gave this to me for my birthday last year. No way is it new, oppa.”

“I … Well …”

“Forget it,” she sighs, and you know that while it’s a teasing one, she’s still a little hurt. “Guess I’m not pretty enough for you to be gawking at all the time. Let’s just go.”

Now it’s your turn to be hurting.

Stuffing your hands into your pockets, as Dahyun left the set, you realize your phone isn’t on your person. You spend some time looking around the opulent assembled living room in search of your damn cellular device, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“God damn it … Can’t even call her now either. Oh well.”

You hear a muffled scream in one of the other studios and chuckle. “Guess they’re working on other films too. Gotta … gotta stay focused after this.”

The moment you exit the studio, you’re met by a pile of blood painted in sporadic patches across the floor.

“Jesus, that—who the hell spilled all this … fake … blood …?”

There’s a trail. A trail of fake blood.

Headed towards studio four. The studio next to yours.

The studio that’s supposed to be filming ‘Adventures of the Pet Pals in Space’.

Something isn’t right here.

At first, you trodded over towards the studio next door one step at a time, but when you noticed the blood turning darker and fresher, you broke into a sprint.

Kicking the door open, you beckon, “Hello? Is anyone—?”

You fall to your knees.

Sprawled across the hood of a cartoonish spaceship, innards dangling out from all the cuts and open wounds, Dahyun’s lifeless body bled dry across the windshield of the vehicle.

“D-Dahyun …? D-D-Dahyun-ah …?”

You fall to your hands as well, crawling closer and closer. Until you realize there’s something written on the floor. Until you notice it spells out something.

IS SHE PRETTY NOW?

And where the O should have been is a small silver ring tainted and tarnished by blackened blood. 

You vomit all over the writing. You puke, and you hurl, and you spill your guts out at the sight of seeing your girlfriend’s guts spilling out too.

Out of the corner of your eye, you clock it—your phone.

Racing towards it on all fours, you swipe it from the floor, brush off the debris from the damaged screen, and take a look at what app was open.

It’s your whiteboard app. The one you use from time to time to signal to the cast in the middle of a shoot.

Written upon it were the words SCREAM AND I LEAK YOUR RELATIONSHIP.

Your fingers shakily dance across the screen to close the app, to shuffle to your contacts, to hit the emergency number.

“H-H-Hello … one-one-two …? There’s there’s been an accident …”

You take one last glance at the bloodied and crucified Dahyun still pinned against the spaceship, tears streaming down your weary face. “Yeah … yeah someone’s been murdered.”

“And it’s all … my … fault …”

Shatter.

“Mmmm I told you I’m not drunk~”

As Sakura proceeds to prove why she allegedly isn’t drunk by doing a cartwheel right in front of you in this empty parking lot, she barely even gets to put most of her weight on her palms before her entire form shudders.

You’re quick to catch her before she can fall, holding her up by the waist until she can stand upright again. “Damn it, Kkura. You’re legitimately going to give me a heart attack.”

Biting her lip, Sakura lets her beautiful pink hair fan down one shoulder as she raises a brow at you. “Quit whining, you big baby~. I think you’re the drunk one heeeere.”

“Well, if you aren’t drunk, then I guess you can drive home by yourself?” you jest, and already, she’s clawing at your chest and arm, pulling you in so you can’t escape her grasp. Your arm slides between the delicate valley of her chest and stomach, and for a moment, your nerves freeze over and stiffen. “O-On second thought … I think you should leave all the driving to me.”

“Ehh, do you think I’m that bad of a driverrrr?” she groans, her r’s rolling off her tongue far longer than any sober person’s would. “Guess I need to prove it to you otherwiiiise~.”

Before you can even ask what she means by that, Sakura has already snatched your keys and is spinning them around one finger rather precariously.

“Kkura … what are you going to do?”

She hums as she unlocks your ride and jams herself right into the driver’s seat, ignoring your question. When the engine to your E46 revs to life, there’s a larger tension now blossoming in your gut. “Kkura …?”

“Yes baby~? What’s the matter?” she wonders like she has absolutely no clue about what was wrong with all this. She checks her appearance in the rearview mirror, bending it horribly off angle, before glancing at you through the side mirror. “What was that thing you and your friends used to do on the—hic—on the ‘puter? What game was that?”

“You mean Forza? Oh god, no—.”

“Oh hell yeah~!” she cheers, pumping one hand in the air as she pats the roof of your BMW. Pressing a foot on the gas, the car lurches forward and growls. It’s staggering. It’s stuttering. “Baby, why am I going so slow? My foot’s down on the pedal though?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose so hard it could very well just come clean off, you holler towards her. “This one’s a manual, Kkura. It’s a six-speed man—.”

You hear something click from the open window, and with a series of motions, Sakura managed to figure out how to increase her speed with the help of the clutch. “There we go! Woohoo~!!”

And you’re actually impressed. 

She’s just going around the carpark in circles, speeding up faster and faster, but seeing the love of your life in the driver’s seat of your favorite car, going eighty through the dead of night, hair flowing behind her, a smile so wide it could engulf you whole, eyes beaming with such joy, you can’t help but melt.

That’s your woman. And you’ll do everything you can to make sure she’s always happy. Like this.

With you.

“Baby baby baby—how do you do that sideways thing!” she calls out as she zips past you again, and you swear she somehow manages to get the car to go even faster than you coudl have. “What was that thing called?”

“Oh, you mean drifting? Oh dear god, you want to drift?” You pause for a moment to think about how to best explain it to your girlfriend, who you’re pretty sure is too drunk to absorb anything other than more liquor, as someone who is also somewhat intoxicated and is unable to think too sharply. “God, ok, so you want to break a bit, yeah? Keep on the throttle—.”

“What the fuck’s a throttle?”

You slap your face and wipe your sweat clean off it. “Ok, change of plan. Just keep going, and then when you brake, right? You can feel the car start to slide. Just try to balance that with the weight of the car. You want the rear wheels to slide—the rear wheels!”

“I don’t understand a thing you’re saying, but sure!!”

You’re about to flag her down and ask her to stop the car for a moment so you can demonstrate, but what happens next genuinely amazes you.

She manages to drift.

You know several people who could barely even drift in a racing game, so seeing your girlfriend, who you’re pretty sure has had zero experience with racing in any way, shape, or form, begin to drift in a near-perfect arc around the parking lot, your jaw drops to the floor. Hard.

“Kkura … you’re—?”

“Drifting baby~! Hahaha, let’s go~!”

The tires are screeching. There’s smoke billowing from the vehicle now. But it’s worth it.

It’s worth it because you’ve never seen Sakura smile this widely before.

And as she does donut upon donut around you, decreasing into smaller and smaller circles in an attempt to reach you, you’re circling as well in your small little area, watching your girlfriend drive better than any of your friends, laughing at each other, holding up your hands in sheer joy and recognition.

Until a tire comes under the frame.

“Kkura—full break. Full break!”

Until she skids and starts to lose control.

“Kkura, get out of there! GET OUT—!”

Until your car’s French kissing the floor. Over. And over. And over again.

“SAKURA!”

Until all that’s left of both your prized possessions is a steaming heap of crushed metal and leaking fluids.

You make a run for your girlfriend, hand outstretched to try and pry the folded car door open. But before you can even get to her, the fluid on the ground catches fire, and in the blink of an eye, you are sent flying backwards from the explosion.

You’re thrown against one of the lampposts, and immediately, you’re humbled onto the floor.

Through the searing pain of your lumbar region and the sweltering heat that engulfs your skin, you see the burning remnants of your ride, your girlfriend’s body still jammed somewhere in there.

“Kk-Kkura … KKu- … ra …”

As the smoke rises and spreads, the last thing you see is a masked figure steadily making his way towards the accident, something small and rectangular in his hand.

“Please … help … her …”

Before you lose your breath and your consciousness, the last thing you hear him say is—.

“One more to go.”

Shatter.

In a plot of land far removed from the cyberstructures of Neo-Seoul, an elderly woman sits herself on a rickety bench covered in moss. Taking a deep breath, inhaling the last few remnants of natural air she can before needing to rely on her breathing unit, she leans against the backrest of her seat and just smiles.

Just smiles.

Off to her side, a doorway of light thrums open, and out comes a figure that believes he’s hidden from plain sight. 

Holding up his handheld device, the figure scans the area, waiting until the machine spits back a response.

“You there … Have you come to fetch me?”

Behind his mask, the figure raises a brow, lowering his gadget to take a better look at the curmudgeon chortling and pointing at him. “Yeah, you. Who else would I be asking, dumbass?”

“You’ve still got quite the spunk despite your age, don’t you?” the figure retorts, his voice distorted by the confines of his mask. “You can see me?”

“Yes, and?”

“You aren’t afraid of me?”

She chuckles heartily, but not without a cluster of coughs along with it too. Once she’s regained her bearings, hand on her chest, the old woman grins. “Curious? Maybe. But afraid? Not quite. There’s hardly anything to be afraid of in my age. Just waiting for my time to come.”

Crossing his arms, the figure steps closer, pausing just by the edge of the bench. The woman sighs and gazes ahead once more, at the flashing lights and the ever-present bustle of Neo-Seoul. “Well, is it my time?”

“Do you think it is?”

“The grim reaper’s already come to visit me. That’s what you are, no?”

Taking the vacant seat next to the lady, the figure parts his knees and leans his palms into them. “We’ve been called many things. Grim reapers. Ferrymen of souls. Judges of justice. Deliverers. But really, we … I … am more of an … observer. Yeah, an observer.”

“An observer?” she repeats, gum-less lips twitching side-to-side in disbelief. “For an observer, you sure are meddling a lot.”

Swatting a hand at her, the figure continues. “I like to have my fun here and there. I’m not allowed to intervene. Only if things deviate from their set course.”

“Set course? What are you, some sort of god?”

“You could see it that way. Some people think of us as gods. But really, we just enforce things.”

“Enforce what now?” And before the figure is able to respond, the lady beats him to it. “Enforce people’s destinies, or enforce your will onto their destinies?”

The figure falls silent.

Snorting, the old lady shudders like she might want to stand up, and for a second, the figure is about to help her, but she swats again at his advance and instead fixes her position on the bench. “Have you never thought of that before? How this little ‘purpose’ of yours might be bringing more harm than good to people?”

The figure remains silent.

“Tch, and here I thought you’d be more of a talker. I know what you are. You’re a Minuteman, aren’t you?”

This time, the figure responds. “I … I’m one of many.”

“Just another cog in the machine. They took you from your timeline, mindwiped you like the rest, and now, you scuttle about blindly doing their bidding,” she mocks, seething between clenched lips. “Lapdogs, all of you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m just here to—.”

“So you are here to take me, Mr. Grim Reaper,” she interjects, lacing her fingers together atop the shoal laid across her lap. “You’re just like him. He was never one to hold back. Always doing whatever he wanted. Little regard for his loved ones. That idiot.”

“Like … him?”

This time, it’s the woman’s turn to fall silent.

“Your aura.”

“What …?”

“Your temporal aura,” she clarifies, glancing to the side. “It’s just like his. I could tell from the moment you stepped foot into our timeline.”

The figure raises a hand to his mask, the same mask that fully obscures his face, and for a brief moment, he motions like he just might take it off. But the woman next to him places a hand on his thigh and squeezes it. “Don’t … for both of our sakes … just don’t … I’ve already made up my mind. I’ve already accepted my fate. I’m ready to be taken now, especially if that’s what your kind decrees so.”

Nodding, the figure rights itself and pulls out his device again. “A modern TemPad? Now, would you look at that. Lucky you. That does all the work for you, doesn’t it? Even clearing up multiversal residue?”

“How … do you know so much?”

The woman flashes him one final toothless grin. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out, dumbass. Now, are you going to do it or not?”

Pressing a button on his TemPad, the figure points it at the woman and scans her body. “Any minute now.”

“I hope … I just hope that in my next life … in the next timeline I get reincarnated in … he and I will finally be happy … together …”

The figure wants to say something. A final word of reassurance. But all that comes out is, “I’m confident there are realities where you’re happy.”

And just before the woman’s heart can fully stop, just as she’s about to take her final breath, she manages a penultimate sigh, muttering, “That’s … the thing … I want us … to- … -ge- … ther …”

Silence. Complete silence.

Once the TemPad finishes its scan, it confirms the charge on the mini-holoscreen.

Naoi Rei. Reality #15124175209135129145. 

Status: Deceased. 

Deviation: Averted.

“How many more?” he asks himself, stashing the TemPad into his pocket. “How many more do we have to … fix? How many more lives do we have to take …? How many timelines … must suffer … for the greater good?”

Right then and there, a tearing sound cuts through the air.

As a tear in the fabric of reality emerges before him, the figure reaches for the timebreach and wills it close, tugging the inner folds of the wound in time-space towards each other, forcing it to mend.

And just before it could fully close, he catches a glimpse of the timeline on the other side.

“Wonyoungie! Ya, Wonyoung-ah! Over here, over here!” a woman cries, wrapped in what can only be described as patchwork armor made out of different sporting equipment. “We’ll be safe in here!”

In the distance, the girl being beckoned to screams while running for her life, arms crossing over herself as she reaches for her friend.

Trailing behind her are waves upon waves of staggering undead.

When the tear finally seals close, the figure lets out a deep sigh and chuckles under his shaky breath. “Interesting. You don’t see that every day.”

His TemPad beeps. It’s another warning. Another breach.

Another branch.

“Would you look at that? Guess this job can still surprise me,” he mutters, staring down at the data scrolling past him rapidly across the holoscreen. “No rest for the wicked.”

Slicing with his fingers through the air, the previous wound he had just closed bursts open with a chromatic flame, liquified quantum dripping down the edges and seeping from the next reality into this one.

Before the ruptured breach can cause any further unnecessary damage, the figure leaps in, bursting into the next reality.

And all that remains as the breach re-seals itself is the scent of putrid, rotting flesh.