The diner they met in had the worst leather seats Jeongyeon had the displeasure of sitting.

Chanyeol stared at the stairs in front of him, a mild amused smile taking his lips as he rested his arm on the wheelchair’s armrest, face on hand. By his back, Sehun’s hands rested on his shoulders, eyes on the ramp to the art museum, now taken by an art exposition that did not allow his wheelchair to pass through.

She was ready to not shine.

Bora’s usual haunting grounds are demolished to make way into a “shopping mall”, whatever are those.

Handong regretted the day she’d met Gahyeon, for it had set her fate into motion.

Siyeon watched, from the door, as Yoobin slowly put the silver chain.

Ever since Minji is aware of it, there’s a soulmate mark on her neck.

The producer christens her Olivia Hye and bestows her a title: Destroyer of Eden, World Eater, Fallen Angel, The End and The Beginning of All Things, and she accepts it eagerly, slipping a mask into her face, shaped like her own, but not quite: rubies cover her eyes, and wolf-like features morph into her own, both a muzzle and a gag tinted with blood.

Haseul looked at the elf, who was more focused on try to take aim. Sure, they were on the same subjugation party, but Jungeun felt absent, far away, as if any moment she’d fly away. 

Sooyoung hissed, the feeling of the disinfectant foreign and familiar at the same time. Haseul glanced at her, and then around: one never knew what was laying around, in wait, hoping for a moment of weakness.

Her blind eyes are on Minji’s face, memory muscle acting, and Siyeon shakily extends a hand to her face, touching it with fear and care.

Every maid in the palace is half in love with princess Yoobin.

The kitchen smelled like herbs.

The smell of bread and coffee filled the air of Kahei’s favorite bakery.

Yoobin watched the sun go down, slowly, already at the threshold of their house.

There’s stars in her hair and sunlight in her eyes.

Humming along the soft tone of the radio in the kitchen, Yoohyeon finished tying her tie in the mirror, hair already tied up.

She could spot several places where she had overstitched, then in a futile effort to correct it, she managed to understitch it. Good job, Siyeon, she mentally chastised herself.

Gahyeon finished the flower crown and put it on Bora’s head.

The rain made a soft sound against the window.

Gahyeon is graceful, feet landing on the ground with such precision that the rehearsal markings are barely needed.