Although I edited it a few times, there might be mistakes I couldn't identify. Also, English is not my first language.

  Desperation never means any good. When people become desperate they do things they’re not supposed to, and Ilhoon is no exception.

  Once, years ago, when he was hitting puberty and the orphanage he was living in shut down, he got a taste of desperation. He was left in the streets with nothing. No money, no clothes, no food. Simply nothing to survive. The days passed and he refused to beg for money and food, despising the thought of living on other people’s pity. Digging in the trash was another thing he would’ve never done, no matter what were the circumstances. Then, he hit the lowest point in his life. He couldn’t bear the aching, empty stomach of his, and desperation lead him to do something he shouldn’t have: to steal. He didn’t want much, only a few slices of bread and a little meat. Luck, however, wasn’t on his side. He was clumsy and got caught right away, having to spend three months in the small prison of their village. He didn’t mind, though. There was food and a place to sleep, and he didn’t wish for anything else. He also learnt two things: how to work hard, and how to steal small things without getting caught. He didn’t plan becoming a thief, but a little bit of experience never hurts.

  Thinking about the past, it wasn’t such a horribly desperate situation, but for a young, lanky kid it seemed like the end of the world. Now he was a fine young man, with average height, a good built body, and facing a real desperate situation.

  It started almost a month ago, when he, who grew up with the thought that he didn’t have a family, met his mother. He doesn't remember how they met or how they found out the truth. One thing he knows for sure is that after hearing her reason to give him away he cried like a newborn in his mother’s arm.

  She was a servant, and his father died before Ilhoon’s birth. On the faithful night his mother wrapped him in the cleanest and warmest cloth she found, then took him to the orphanage. She left him so he wouldn’t live the same life as her and his late father.

  A servant’s or a slave’s child is also one, but an orphan could grow into anything if he has luck. He knew it because he’d seen it. A friend of his once saved a wealthy man’s life from a berserk horse. He, Eunkwang, ended up with a broken arm, and with the gratitude of the man who took him in his house. A few years later the man died from an unknown illness, and months later Eunkwang married the young widow. Ilhoon himself was living in a small room in - now- Eunkwang’s house for free.

  From the day he met the woman who gave birth to him, he and his mother met secretly. He couldn’t stop staring at her, his mother, and he noticed small things about her. How her eyes are dull, but shine every time she sees her son; how she fights down her tears; and how she smiles weakly, but warmly at him. He feels her calloused fingers against his cheeks whenever she takes his face in her dry hands. She tells him that he grew up so fine and handsome like his father, and that she loves him so much. Her hair is fair, there are wrinkles all over her face, but Ilhoon thinks she’s still beautiful.

  One day, Ilhoon witnessed his life’s most painful scene that had him crying. His mother’s owner, drunk and angry, yelled profanities at his mother for being too slow with the chores. He dragged her inside the house by her hair, not stopping at her pleas. Ilhoon had to use all his self-control not to jump down from the tree he was hiding in and beat the man up. His hands turned white from his strong grip on the branches, and his teeth were clenched together with such a force that he could’ve broken them. That was the day Ilhoon made up his mind to do the scariest thing known to mankind. One thing any son would be able to do to save their mother from such a monster. He decided to become a monster himself for the woman that gave birth to him. He decided to kill, and he knows exactly how. He needs poison.

  His plan is simple. The man goes every evening to drink at the place Ilhoon helps out. He will pour poison in his drink, help him home. At home he would give him the remaining poison. Then he will take his mother and leave the village at night. By the time people would notice that they’re gone and the wealthy man is dead, they would be already far away, starting a new life. Maybe they could even open an orphanage somewhere, but that’s a thought for later.

  Now he has only one question in his mind: how to get hold of the poison he needs?

  Being a boy of the streets has its perks. He knows people, places, more rumors and secrets than anyone else. He’d heard about the woman. That’s how she’s called: the woman, the unknown, the ghost, the witch. Only a few know about her, and certainly even they don’t have a lot of information. He sometimes heard hushed whispers in the shadows about her. The rumors say she comes with the wind and leaves just like that. Nothing is sure about her since almost no one has seen her. He knows that maybe she’s the only one who can help him. They say she plays with dark magic and people’s lives.

  There’s one way of meeting her and only one person might know how to do that. She is the so called witch of the village, who lives in the desert and one has to walk half a day to reach her cottage.

  It was time to meet Madam Fenella.

  Ilhoon set off early, even before the Sun could be seen. All he brought with him were money, bread, an apple, and a flask full of water. All of these were in his one-straped brown bag that he got from a leather seller after helping him rebuild his stand that got destroyed by the storm the night prior.

  The journey was long and tiresome, even for someone like him, as the Sun didn’t have mercy. It was around noon when he could finally see the run-down cottage that barely had its half roof. It didn’t even have a proper door. Instead there was a long, dirty green veil hanging at the entrance.

  He knocked on the wall, then stepped inside after he heard a hoarse, high-pitched voice telling him to enter. Two steps inside and he scrunched his nose as reaction to the strong and displeasing smell. There was another door, or just another veil, this one faded red. He pushed the material aside, and entered the room. If he found the smell lingering in the house bad before, he could hardly breathe now, for it was awful. Like a mixture of trash and food, and vomit left in the heating sun. He, almost ready to turn back, but realizing that he was doing all of this for his mother, fought down his nausea.

  The windows were covered so there was only a faint light in the room. Dust and dirt covered every corner and every surface. In the middle stood a low old table and one pillow on either side of it. Madam Fenella was sitting on one side with her back facing Ilhoon. He bypassed her, then stared at the stained and dirty pillow, wishing he could just stand.

  “Sit down, young man.” At the fake kindness and slight authority, he did as he was told. He crossed his legs, his hands resting on his knees so he wouldn’t have to touch anything. She had her head lowered down, wearing a handkerchief and robes.

  “Now, tell Madam Fenella why you came, young man.”

  “I heard that you’re the only one who can help me to find someone.”

  This time she lifted her head, and Ilhoon was struck, feeling more insecure than he did before. He hadn’t imagined the so called witch to be pretty, but this was beyond all the things he’d seen in his whole life. Madam Fenella was ugly in all sense of the word. Even with the handkerchief he could see the absence of hair. She was bald, and had no eyebrows. Her face was full of wrinkles, her skin somewhere between grey and green, her nose crooked, that made her resemble a crow at the moment. Her lips thin, pale and chapped, teeth yellow, some almost brown, one half black, and one missing. And her eyes…those were the scariest about her. Her right eye was icy blue, with her pupil being only a small slit - like a feline’s eyes-, and the left one dark grey-green with dilated pupil. Her irises were seated in the left corner of her eyes, even if she was staring ahead.

  “Ohoho.” Her lips pulled back against her gums, more teeth showing. “I know who you’re talking about.”

  “Then how do I find her?”

  “You cannot find her.” She answered, sniffing loudly and wiping her nose with the back of her dirty hand. Her fingers were thin, almost skin and bone, nails long and uneven.

  Her response took Ilhoon off guard. If there was no way of meeting this person, then his hope was crushed. He couldn’t live with the thought of not helping is mother. He had numerous questions in his head, and was about to reply something rude, when the woman - was she even a woman?- continued.

  “You can’t find her, but you can meet her.”

  “How?”

  “You wait for her. In the desert. She will find you and she will know you.”

  “But how do I know it’s her?”

  “Oh, you will know. You will know, young man. You will definitely know.”

  She was strange and scary. He couldn’t even bring himself to thank her, only pulling out the money from his bag.

  “Her name is –“ she startled Ilhoon, who glanced up at her again. She leaned forwards, placing her hands flat on the table’s surface. Ilhoon’s instinct told him to run, to panic every second she got closer, but he willed himself not to. He still wanted to hear that name. He could smell and feel her breath that was warm, and far more horrible than the whole room itself. Like a combination of alcohol, smoke, something spicy and, and something rotten. He was a strong man, he would say, but his eyes became teary at the moment. His lungs burned, his stomach flipped, turned, dropped, jumped and twisted. During his mental and psychical fight with his body’s reactions, he made the mistake to look in her eyes. Her irises were looking to the right, but she was staring at him, staring dead in his eyes.

  “Hyuna.” She breathed out.

  A sudden movement caught his attention from the corner of his eyes as the name left the witch’s mouth. They both turned to look in the direction. A cockroach. Madam Fenella leaned back, but Ilhoon couldn’t feel relieved yet, and when she extended her arm to grab the insect, he knew he was right. Dread ran through his body because he subconsciously knew what will happen next. The cockroach was moving its legs with amazing speed while she held it between her thumb and forefinger, staring at it.

  Not long ago Ilhoon wanted to run. He did it now. He threw the money on the table, the coins clashing loudly on the wooden surface, then he stumbled up, bolting out. But he still heard the crack. Right as he stepped out from that place, he fell on his knees not even three steps away from the entrance, and emptied his stomach.

  That moment he swore on everything he believes in, that he's never returning to this place ever again. But he will never forget this incident. It left him traumatized. He won’t be able to look at crows without thinking of her; look at cockroaches without hearing the crack; or hearing the word ‘witch’ without picturing her in his mind.

  As the Sun was setting, Ilhoon was standing where the desert begun, still far from the village. His nerves were acting up, and he waited with anxious anticipation for the woman. He was not a man who put appearance to the front, but after seeing Madam Fenella, who left his blood frozen, he was afraid of what this Hyuna would look like.

  After waiting for what it seemed like hours, he was beginning to doubt Madam Fenella’s words. How would she know where he is or what he wants?

  His thoughts were interrupted by a strong wind, grains of sand flying in the air, twirling once, and falling back down. Then he saw it. He saw her. A silhouette approached him from afar.

  She was the woman who came with the wind, the woman of the desert, the woman of the waste, and the woman of the unknown.

  Ilhoon knew it was her. She had a strong and confident aura, and it seemed like she was glowing from afar. As she came closer he could see her with more clarity. She was wearing dark clothes: an a ankle length, black coat that seemed more like a cloak fluttering behind her, with brown fur collar. Ilhoon knew that it was finely made: not something you could wear, or even find in the villages around. She was barefoot, not seeming a bit uncomfortable, and she was walking with so much grace that he almost forgot they were surrounded by sand. She moved smoothly, with ease, giving off the feeling that she was floating.

  His eyes moved up to her head and he was amazed by her beauty. Mid-back length raven black shiny hair, eyes hidden by shades -these were things he’d only seen on tourists until now. Her lips were blood red, accompanied with an effortless and wicked, lopsided smile. Long earrings reached her shoulders, while thick necklace decorated her neck. These jewelries all seemed to be gold, and all had various gems that probably cost a kingdom.

  Everything on her was a huge contrast to her pale, almost white skin. He found it intriguing, because he had imagined her, the woman of the desert, having a golden tan skin.

  She stopped a few steps away from him, her scent reminding Ilhoon of sweet fruits, cinnamon and something exciting that had him forgetting for a while about Madam Fenella’s horrible one.

  “How can I help you?” A charming voice that matched the charming looks.

  “I think you know that already.” He responded, waiting for her reaction. Was she like everyone said? Did she know everything? The woman only chuckled lowly, and stepped closer. She gently patted his left cheek twice with the tip of her fingers. He took a glance at her hand, red nails and rings that matched her other jewelries on almost all her fingers. She slipped her hand to the back of his neck, s he had to look at her face again. He shivered at the feeling of her cold rings touching his sensitive neck.

  “I know. “ She responded with all the confidence of the world. “But I ask for something in return.”

  “W-what is it?” he suddenly felt intimidated. Her hidden eyes were watching him. He wished he could see them, to get lost in their look, to forget who he is and why is he here. She massaged the skin on the back of his neck with her long-nailed fingers, drawing circles with the tip of her nails. After moments, she slid her index finger down his jawbone and stopped right under his chin. He focused on the feeling, her touch barely there, but burning his skin. Then she smiled again, pulling her hand away. “I can’t tell you now, handsome.” She breathed, her lips close to his lips. He held back his breath in anticipation, lips trembling just slightly, hiss pupils dilating. She moved her head so she could lean closer to his ear, while her scent intoxicated him, making Ilhoon feel like he’s in a different universe. “I will find you when the time comes.” She whispered, lips slightly grazing the shell of his ear. “Are you willing to do it?”

  Maybe he still didn’t register the danger he was facing, or maybe she pulled him in a trap by clouding his mind, but he breathed out a weak “yes” as an answer. Then, she pulled away at once. His body almost leaned after her, not wanting to let her go. He stopped himself from doing so, feeling like his senses were coming back slowly, now that there was some distance between them.

  She slipped her hand inside her coat’s pocket, pulling out a small leather sack and a dark brown bottle. She took his hands, placing the items in them, and closing his palms over those. The light squeeze of her hands gave off a feeling of security, that he should trust her, yet her voice was cold and stern. “Be careful. Drinking even one drop from the bottle causes immense pain. More than that is lethal. The cure is a plant inside the sack. Don’t lose it.” she warned, but even with the authority in her voice, he could almost feel the care. She let go of his hands.

  Oh, what he got himself into. At this moment he wanted to say no, that he’s thankful but he changed his mind. But there were two reasons why he couldn’t do that. One was the image of his poor old mother who needed him, and the other was his manly pride. He couldn’t back down now, so he nodded.

  A strong wind came, rising the sand once again, and the last thing he saw before he covered his eyes with one hand was the light, lovely smile of the woman. Seconds later, when he opened his eyes, there was no sign of Hyuna.

  He glanced at the sack and the bottle inside his hand, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and slipped them inside his bag.

  Now the one question that didn’t cross his mind when he agreed to pay her back was: what’s the payment? He doesn’t know, and it makes everything more frightening, and in a way more exciting. He probably promised his life to her, and he doesn’t even mind.

  He eyed the place she’d been standing with a feeling of longing. She was different. She was magical, and dangerous. Exciting and terrifying. Everything about her made him want to see her again, want to see her eyes.

  With a final sigh, a look towards the last, reddish lights of the horizon, he turned around and walked back to his village.

  The hardest thing was yet to begin.

A/N: If you arrived here, thank you for reading.