The Blessing

One last dream, you supposed.

The room was eerily dim. There was a mirror in front of you, with a row of tiny spotlights washing over the front of the room, while the room’s black padded walls remained in darkness.

You looked at yourself. You were bloody, bruised. Your arms were broken with open wounds, as were your legs – at least, in the reflection. Looking down at yourself, you were still in one piece.

“Geez, you look like shit,” a voice came from the mirror. An old man sat in the couch behind you, but looking back he wasn’t there. “Talk to me through here.”

“Who are you?”

“I think you have a vague idea,” the figure grinned, not sly but equally mysterious. “So you know that this is serious.”

“I must speak with you respectfully, then, Master.”

“Ah, bullshit,” he laughed, raising a hand. “You’re about to die. You get a pass.”

You felt fear in your stomach at the words uttered.

“I see you’re scared,” he spoke. “Come here and sit down. It’ll be weird, but humor me.”

You turned back and walked to the lone sofa, sitting down beside him, at least from the mirror’s perspective.

“What about it are you afraid of?,” the voice asked.

“The pain,” you whispered. “I know it’s going to involve pain.”

“That I cannot help you with, no,” he shook his head. “You humans are so good at that —inflicting pain. We can make someone die or live, but how one goes is entirely you guys.”

“Nobody knows that down there,” you replied.

“Mortals,” he chuckled. “But you seem oddly… at peace.”

“I just need to make it out of the dying part without the pain,” you continued, “to not turn into a gwi-shin.”

“And why would you wanna do that?,” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Because I wanna spend my eternity with Jennie, and that can be done here.”

“Easier said than done,” he taunted. “You realize that’s not up to you to decide, no?”

You exhaled sharply. “Then whoever it is, I’m just gonna have to convince.”

“Ha! You have resolve, boy,” he remarked, sighing. He looked away for a second. “Those fuckin’ kids. Here already?”

“Who?”

“You know who. Let’s have a chat soon, ‘kay?” He touched your chest and you felt yourself falling down.

“Wake up, fuckface.”

Injeong’s goons grabbed you by the shoulders, the morning light searing your eyes. “How was your dream, asshole?”

You stayed silent.

“Oi,” the guy on your right shouted, punching you in the ribs. “Answer him.”

“It was a dream, Injeong,” you replied. “What’s there to talk about?”

“Bet you were fantasizing about Juhyeon, weren’t you, you fuckin’ perv?,” a voice called from behind Injeong.

“Your words, not mine. Shaman dreams don’t work that way,” you groaned. The guy on your left punched you in the gut.

“Shut up, wise guy.”

Injeong took out a pouch and emptied a few rice grains into his hand. “This yours?”

“Those are rice grains, Injeong,” you hissed. “Your father could have rice grains in his pocket all the way in Hanseong right now. Does that make him a shaman?”

He slapped you across the face. “Liar! I know these are yours and you held a divination ritual with Juhyeon. She told me all about it, begging me to spare you.”

“You intend to lie to your wife on your first day as a wedded couple? Real exemplar of the teachings of Gong-ja, everyone.”

The boys threw you down and kicked at you. You curled yourself into a ball, and you felt their blows buffet you from all sides.

One of them entered your house, grabbing your mother's eunjangdo on the floor. "Hey, there's something here—"

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew from inside your house, knocking over a chunk of the men with him, who ran in fear. You looked to see Jennie, teary-eyed.

“This is all I can do,” she whispered, and she struck the floor with her foot again, sending a few more boys outside the house flying.

“This guy’s a witch!,” one of them said, grabbing on to you. “We need to send him to the magistrate, now!”

The men physically dragged you to the village square, where people watched and saw you. Everything was a blur; Injeong made a riling speech, something about your indecencies against Juhyeon, and the crowd started hitting you, hurling rocks and sticks at you. After a while, the town police came by and locked you up. The magistrate heard your case while you were barely lucid, and had you detained while they gathered witnesses.

And there you sat, feet locked on the floor, in a cold, wet cell, clinging onto consciousness.

Jennie was alone.

The farther she tried to walk from the tiny shrine in the house, the more it felt like she was walking through burning hot jelly.

And damn it all, did she try. She pushed farther and farther; she knocked your bowls and paintings over in frustration. But still, Jennie remained stuck; she was alone, and she was scared.

Several hours passed before someone entered the house. Jennie knew who it was from her energy.

“Eomeoni?,” she called out. She didn't even know why she referred to her reverently, but it felt... right.

“A spirit has no business being so reverent to mortals, Jennie,” your mom replied, inviting Jennie for an embrace. She cried, her chest hurting in a way that felt vaguely familiar, perhaps from her time as a human many centuries ago.

“What are we going to do?,” she asked.