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

“Siyeon, right?” She asked, rhetorical, and the girl gave her a curt, stiff nod. She started to clean her hands, staring at Siyeon. “Well, it’s going to be an expensive fix. Upwards two thousand struanes, I think. Old ships tend to be like that, you know? Impossible to predict.” Siyeon looked baffled. Handong counted down the seconds to the explosion. “Old ship? This baby is from a few months ago, I bought it new!”

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

The worst flowers to cough are larkspurs, because they always seem to come on the branch, scratching at Yoobin’s throat and tinting the purple of the petals with blood.

When the envoys of the far off human kingdom bring their tributes to the Queen of the fae, they bring in a princess with them, veiled and frail. There’s a surprise among court, whispers floating around: human sacrifice isn’t a thing they do. 

Minji kisses the small wounds on Handong’s fingers, and then bandages them carefully, even though she doesn’t need them anymore: a vampire’s saliva is pretty much a cure-all, but Handong guesses it’s the thought that counts.