CHAPTER ONE

Sodalis was a queer little shop that lay beneath a long block of shop houses, hidden away from the prying eyes of common folks in Meadavine. Its existence was known only by a handful. The entrance was guarded by an arched wooden door that squeaked on its hinges. Camouflaged by the warm colors of the sun-baked bricks, the narrow door could only be discovered upon close scrutiny.

The door opened onto a dimly lit stairway that wound its way into the underground and the shop waited at the bottom. The name of the shop was inscribed on a small plank that hung modestly above a second door. At the foot of this door, a worn ‘Welcome’ rug lay in quiet anticipation.

The interior of the shop, bathed in an orange light, was crammed and the odd clash of colors on the walls only served to make the room more claustrophobic. A paltry reception area, composed of only a shaky desk and an equally shaky chair, greeted the visitors upon their entrance. A translucent curtain sectioned the reception area from the rest of the shop. It was behind this curtain where a dozen of life-sized puppets were lined up in military rigidity.

Kyuhyun stood at the end of the line, nearest to the back of the shop which deepened into a workshop where more of his kind were built. The unpleasant smell of lacquer saturated his nostrils. He could not rub his nose, let alone shift himself to the other side of the room. 

Noises which the thin ceiling failed to buffer buzzed down from the café above. When he perked his ears to listen, he could circumvent the busy shuffle of feet and listen to the befuddling sounds of emotions emitted by humans. Sometimes he heard laughter, while other times he heard hisses and yells. There were also occasions where sobs were audible.

He had always wondered what spurred humans act the way they did, but the way for him to find out was to become one.

He had seen many of his counterparts leaving the shop as humans after being chosen by one. He had seen their radical transformation. They were no longer pieces of wood cobbled together by bolts and nuts; they had become flesh and blood, able to move and speak. Whenever one of them left, he had the quixotic urge to lift his hand up and wave them goodbye.

People, though not many, had come to the shop on the sole purpose of seeking companionship. Most of the time they were widow(er)s seeking a companion to assuage their grief. In this little shop, they would always find a puppet they could connect to.  

Yet, after 768 days since his day of completion, no one had seemed to take an interest in him and he wished he could ask why. Perhaps his face was hideously carved. Perhaps he was a product of defect. 

With each day that sailed by, his stay in this underground room became increasingly stifling. He ached to explore the world that bustled above him, to flex his limbs out of their prolonged hibernation. He wanted to live out all the images his mind has conjured to bilk boredom. But all he could do was to wait, wait and wait.

He knew that another day had ended when an old man, small and hunched at his back, emerged from the workshop. The old man took off his glasses and polished it with his frayed vest before putting it back on.  He stretched his sore back, popping his joints. Kyuhyun thought that his frizzy hair appeared whiter than it had been the previous day.

Under the unmoving gaze of his puppets, the old man made his way across the room in careful steps. He stopped just before the curtain and swept his benevolent eyes across the band of puppets. His face wrinkled more when he smiled in encouragement.

“All of you have your own thoughts, your own knowledge and your own senses.” His raspy voice was slow and kind, as though he was speaking to his own children. “All you’re waiting for is someone to give you your soul. That day will definitely come.” His gaze lingered on Kyuhyun.

“Good night then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Donggun, Jangmi, Kyuhyun…” Like a daily routine, he went on to list the names he had given to them.  When he was done, he flicked the switch on the wall and darkness drowned the room.

Kyuhyun knew that when the sun rises tomorrow, he would be another day closer to becoming human.

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The recent dip in temperature portended the arrival of winter. Cold air curled in through the cracks of the walls, carpeting the wooden floor with a layer of frost. Kyuhyun was mildly consoled that the stinging chill would only have minimal repercussions on his wooden limbs. Unlike humans, puppets don’t suffer from frostbites. 

He stared at the rusty heater which should have been flaming red-hot by now if not for the absentmindedness of his maker. From the creaks of bolts, spanner, screwdrivers and other paraphernalia, he understood that the production of another puppet had demanded all of his maker’s attention. He sighed – mentally - and returned to his hobby of picking out nuances from the muffled noises that descended from above.

Just when he thought that the day would be as banal as its precedents, Lady Fate finally decided to intervene.

The dull thuds of footsteps against the staircase had barely registered his occupied mind when the wind chime at the entrance breezed, announcing the admission of a visitor. Through the gauze-like material of the curtain, he could discern a fuzzy outline.

His maker exited from the workshop and made his way to the reception area without the alacrity one would expect from shop owners. Mid-way, the old man paused with a disgruntled groan to rub at his knobby knee.  As he straightened and dragged his arthritic leg behind him, he mumbled something about deteriorating health being corollary of age. His complaints fell into a surprised silence when he lifted the curtain.

Kyuhyun caught a glimpse of the potential customer before curtain fluttered back into place, and he understood the basis of his maker’s surprise. The boy was an exception to their pool of customers which was stereotyped by middle-aged men and women. After a wild guess, he decided that the boy’s age was no more than eighteen. 

Their conversation seemed to be composed in tones that weren’t loud enough to diffuse through the curtain. Even when Kyuhyun strained his ears, he could only hear the scratchy rumble of his maker’s voice. He began to suspect that the conversation was wholly one-sided, partially sustained by occasional nods from the boy.

The curtain parted again and the boy was led through. He surveyed the room with wary curiosity.

The boy was thin, barely filling up the clothes that hung over his small frame. His coat was patched in places and his jeans were faded with time. A checkered scarf looped around his neck obscured the tip of his chin. He appeared pale even under the orange light.

“All the puppets are here.” His maker gestured. “They’ll all make great companions; no matter which one you choose.”

The boy didn’t acknowledge the old man’s words; instead, he began to tread before the row of puppets, his eyes calmly fleeting over them in inspection. When he stopped before Kyuhyun, their eyes locked in an unremitting gaze. 

“His name is Kyuhyun. An excellent choice I would say.” His maker offered when the boy lingered on.

The boy stepped forward, catching Kyuhyun off-guard. Before Kyuhyun knew it, he lost himself in a pair of peering brown orbs. Time cloyed around him, slowed in its fluidity. All noises of the background dwindled into an insubstantial whine that hummed at the back of his head. The boy became the only existence that he was mindful of, as though his world had evolved into a faraway planet big enough to house only both of them.

These clear eyes were unlike those he had seen in others. This pair of eyes was neither cloudy with grief nor shimmering with loss. They were calm like the undisturbed surface of a lake. But the calm was not a reflection of a self-assured serenity; rather, it was of emptiness. A deepening emptiness was more relentless than sorrow itself.

He recovered from his trance when the boy reached to touch his face. The supple tips of the boy’s fingers feathered over his eyes and lingered on in soothing . The boy bit his lower lip and a color of sadness, the first trace of emotion he leaked, flashed pass the hollow of his eyes. 

Letting his hand fall, the boy leant in closer and closer. He was so close that Kyuhyun could make out the fascinating labyrinth of tiny blood vessels under his skin, so close that his breath drew warm circles on places they touched. With a tip of toes, he met Kyuhyun’s stiff lips with his own. 

A breath silvered pass Kyuhyun’s lips, accelerating as it flowed and swerved within him like fairy dust. Heat kindled in his core, fanning outwards to his extremities. The corners of his body began to soften and a link forged between his mind and limbs. He lifted his hand and realized that it was no longer carved wood. It now bore the pattern of fine lines that defined skin. He clenched his fingers and the spots where his nails pressed into became white. When he released the compression, he watched, spellbound, as blood flowed back to dye those spots pink again.

He never knew that becoming human felt as invigorating as this. He wondered how much more he had missed out all these while.

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Kyuhyun would never forget the first bout of fresh air that entered his lungs as he stepped out onto the street, never turning back for one last glance at the shady shop. The air carried with it a taste of promise. He stretched his arms with the freedom of a soaring bird and tipped his head to the sky, relishing in friendly rays of the afternoon sun. 

He followed the boy, whose name he had come to know as Ryeowook, as he led him down the street. The street was flanked by a wonderful array of shops. Contents of the shops were displayed behind a standard pane of window and they clamored for his attention. There were cameras, water clocks, pretty lamps and all of the other stuff he had known but had never seen. He lagged a few steps behind Ryeowook, devouring everything he saw with the single-minded curiosity of a toddler.

Half an hour into their walk, the bustle of Meadavine started to fade and the outskirts began to emerge. Hills and lands curved against the backdrop of a sky streaked with orange and purple. In the distance, a pair of cattle grazed the barren grassland, their tails swishing high and proud. A gust of wind swept by and stirred a willowy tree. Yellow leaves scattered down.

The enchantment of nature did not dazzle Kyuhyun as much as the deliberate complexity of man-made buildings did. Instead of roaming over the scenery around him, his eyes rested on Ryeowook, who hadn’t spoken a word since they left the shop.

Ryeowook was a few steps ahead him, his hands planted deep into the pocket of his oversized coat. Kyuhyun quickened his steps to walk in line with Ryeowook. He glanced at Ryeowook.

“Something’s bothering you?” Kyuhyun prompted. He shrugged his shoulders, unaccustomed to his ability to speak.  

For a moment Ryeowook seemed startled by Kyuhyun’s question, as if he was just aware of Kyuhyun’s existence. He straightened his face quickly and shook his head. But even when a few locks of dark hair fell over his eyes, he could not hide the forlornness that manifested in them. Kyuhyun’s instinct told him that a painful story lay behind those eyes, but he figured that, given their current status, it would be imprudent to pry.

They made a turn at a bend and stopped before one of the few cottages that littered the land. A circle of knee-length logs fenced the cottage, marking the area as a property of the owner. The front yard was bare except for a tree stump. 

“Wouldn’t this place be an easy target for thieves and bandits? Without a lock and all?” Kyuhyun asked when Ryeowook unlatched the door to the cottage.

Ryeowook gave him an odd look, a slight improvement from the ignorance he had previously doled. “There aren’t any of those here.”

“You can’t be that confident.” Kyuhyun turned to survey the still surrounding. “You never know what financial devastation can do.”

“Even if there’re really thieves, this house has nothing valuable to offer.”

Ryeowook had already disappeared through the door when Kyuhyun whipped around with a persuasion ready on his lips. He hurried in and found himself standing in a room that was every bit that Ryeowook had alluded to.

The house was spartanly furnished. An old couch was parked against the wall. A block of unpolished wood – every furniture in the house seemed to be manufactured from wood – anchored itself in front of the couch, serving its function as a coffee table. A stove, a single cupboard, a dining table and two uncomfortable-looking chairs completed a kitchen. A door a few feet away from the table opened onto a cramped toilet.

The bedroom, the only other room of the house, followed the same furnishing dogma. A single bed was juxtaposed next to a window. At the foot of the bed was a small desk with a metal lamp on top. There was a set of cherry wood drawers too. The bed sheet imprinted with rainbow dots seemed to be the only cheery item in the whole room but even that was fading in color. 

As Kyuhyun toured the house, a part of him ached unfathomably at how empty it was. The walls were unadorned with nothing except for windows; there were no paintings to add an enlivening touch. The emptiness transgressed beyond the physical. The whole space seemed to be leeched of life and merry. He thought remotely about the eyes that had enchanted him back at the shop and the pain within him swelled.

It was a decent house, Kyuhyun concluded, but as a home, it was lacking.

Dinner was a simple fare of cabbage soup and barley rice. Silence presided over them as they worked at their food. The oddly exhilarating process of eating deviated Kyuhyun from his plans of striking a conversation with Ryeowook. The hot soup coursed down his throat and lined his stomach with warmth. The pearly rice became sweeter as he rolled them into smaller balls before swallowing. He restrained himself from requesting a second serving. His excitement at the novelty of being human should not his reason for overeating. 

They had retreated to the bedroom by nine. Kyuhyun lay on a futon unrolled beside the bed, all washed up and clad in one of Ryeowook’s bigger pajamas. The room was dark except for the moonlight that spilled through the scratched window; quiet except for the insistent wheeze of the heater. Kyuhyun propped an arm behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. Sleep escaped him.

Ryeowook, faced away from him, nestled beneath the covers on the bed. Under the moonlight, his silhouette resembled the outline of undulating hills he had seen in the evening. There were no motions to suggest that he was awake, but there were no snores to suggest that he was asleep. Kyuhyun decided to try his luck.

“Ryeowook, why did you choose me?” his voice teased the silence apart, carrying with it a question that had bugged him. He was about to assume from the protracted silence that Ryeowook had fallen asleep when Ryeowook answered.

“It’s the same,” Ryeowook said softly. 

A quizzical cloud condensed around Kyuhyun. “What is?”

 “Your eyes,” Ryeowook said softly. “They have the same loneliness I see in my own every time I look into the mirror.”

Initially, Ryeowook’s words only confused Kyuhyun more. He twisted the words in his head, decrypting them. And when he realized what Ryeowook meant, the words hit him with impact. He recalled the days he had spent in that underground shop, and the endless prayers he had winged to an almighty god, all pleading for liberation. 

“It was really lonely back there.” Kyuhyun admitted, shuddering at the memory. “I felt trapped. And there was no way for me to get out except to wait. Eventually I stopped counting the days.”

“But weren’t others there to keep you company?”

Kyuhyun thought about his fellow puppets. “It wasn’t like we could talk or interact with each other. The only thing we had in common is that we’re all waiting. What about you then?”

“Me?” 

“Yeah, why are you lonely?”

Minutes ticked by. Ryeowook did not answer.

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