Seungwan got up from her knees, before bowing to the couple who had just visited.

“Thank you for coming,” she had said whilst bowing, the rhythmic tip-tap of the phrase she repeated over a hundred times that same day dribbling over her coarse tongue and her chapped lips. Maybe she had muttered a differing variation of that same phrase that time. It did not matter.

Her two guests returned the gesture, before the shorter one (Yeri? Yerim?) traced her hand gently down her cheek, ghosting over her neck, before laying itself firmly to rest on the black garb adorning her shoulder. “Stay strong, alright?” the taller girl asked.

Seungwan, her face and mind still blank, nodded. Ready to speak to the next group of well-wishers.

The rectangular wooden box was perched near the wall adjacent to Seungwan, itself perched atop a small, makeshift shrine (which Seungwan paid the service extra for), and adorned in the front with a framed image. In front of it stood a small rostrum, with a large log book on it, itself already half filled. To no one’s surprise, of course, given that today was the second day of the three day service, and Seulgi was someone with her own fair share of friends and acquaintances.

Seulgi. The framed picture, itself containing the last vestiges of the girl she loved. The smile, oh, the painful smile, which adorned her creased face. A smile, which only Seungwan could see through as one that hid unspeakable amounts of pain. Her hair, thin and clumpy. Her clothes, black and simple. Her once beautiful face, now marked and scarred by the sharp daggers of the hospital bed and the blinding lights of the surgical table. How ironic, that the picture of Seulgi at her most lifeless, was also the only remnant of her life left.

The venomous creases, and the hidden pain, was all Seungwan had left.

This winter, for Seungwan, was bitter; then again, when has a winter never been bitter for Seungwan? Maybe winters—the dreary white sky, the bone chilling cold, the barrenness of the surroundings—were meant to be the harbingers of doom, anyway. Her first black garb was purchased when she was merely 3, when she was too young to understand what the horrible chill did to her grandfather, when she was too young to understand what the cursed black of her dress was supposed to mean.

When she wore it during her twentieth (car accident) and twenty-third (cancer) winters, of course, the blackness of her dress seemed to mock her. Getting blacker every time she rented it, even as the surroundings outside her were getting whiter by the second.

“Thank you—oh, hey,” Seungwan started robotically, before her voice suddenly became reinvigorated by the girl who just materialised in front of her.

“Hey, you,” the girl replied, a careless smile gracing her lips. (Which she quickly then retracted as she realised what this venue was.)

“You came,” was all Seungwan could say, a tired smile creeping onto her lips as well. “You came.”

“Yeah,” the friendly girl across her replied. “Here I am.”

It was over coffee later (the girl had declined furiously, saying that Seungwan’s sister Naeun couldn’t handle everyone by herself, only to be ignored by Seungwan instead) that she had realised Irene was here to see her, and not her passed girlfriend.

“It’ll be alright,” Irene comforted, as the cursed rectangular wooden box was slowly lowered into the earth, presumably never to be dug up again. “It’ll be alright.”

“I’ve…I’ve caressed her for the last time,” the little hamster replied, choking back bitter tears as the small white flakes fell rhythmically from the sky, almost as if they were mocking her. “She’s…she’s gone forever!”

“Forever,” Irene quietly comforted. “Forever, it’s a strong word, is it not?”

How could it be a strong word, if Seulgi had muttered it (carelessly) to her every night, even when she knew that she would never be able to fulfil it?

What happened to her forever?

Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you'll never, never have to worry about grown up things again.

The voices in her sorrow mind were speaking again.

She had burst into her cold apartment just seconds prior, before resting her garb down on the kitchen chair, and before tossing her framed picture carelessly onto the table, crashing down onto her couch afterwards.

Her couch?

Well, it was legally hers now, anyway. The apartment filled with Seulgi’s touch, Seulgi’s scent, Seulgi’s memories—it was all, legally hers. This apartment, haunted by the ghosts of her past, was possessing her post-Seulgi future. Chaining her. Restraining her.

She couldn’t even return to her old apartment, on the other side of town, as she had stupidly agreed to Seulgi’s brilliant idea for them to cohabitate, and thus sold her old apartment off.

Forever, eh?

Forever was a nice word. Forever was a nice reassurance, that everything would be okay, that love would solve everything.

Did it? Did it really?

Seungwan didn’t know what Seulgi wanted. Did she wanted them to be together forever, as in until she died? Or did she want them to be together for eternity, into their next lives, and into the lives after their next?

Seungwan decided that Seulgi meant the latter. Of course, right? No one says “forever” so lovingly, so tenderly, whilst simultaneously not meaning any word of it, right? To stay together, if only in her dreams, forever.

Where was Seulgi? Where did she go? Why is she gone? Today, if all had went to plan, was supposed to be their wedding night—only that Seulgi had selfishly succumbed to the cold, just a few days prior.

But if she was gone, why the decorations? Why the new bedspread, just put onto their new bed, still untouched. They would have inaugurated it, each other writhing in ecstasy under each other. Only for Seungwan to sleep on it on her own, writhing from the pain of her memories.

Screw it. Screw the bed. It was meant for two, not for one. She wasn’t going to sleep on that darned bed tonight, that’s for sure. Seungwan staggered out of the bedroom, and aimlessly wandered into the kitchen.

Eleven o’clock, she noted. An exact 12 hours since her Seulgi was relocated twelve feet under, never to see the light of day again. A quick flick of her head, and she would notice the thermostat hung on the wall, beside the shoe rack.

Indicating that on that cold, bitter winter night, the heater was still turned off.

Vodka. Where’s the vodka? Seungwan’s head was spinning, her heart was throbbing. Wasn’t vodka good for this situation, as that devil Sooyoung said? Or was it something else?

Pills?

Right, the pills. Giggling sillily, Seungwan stumbled and staggered towards the medicine cabinet, rifling through her (neatly sorted) pill supply, and picking out the largest, most colourful one.

Popping a few (was a handful a few? How about multiple handfuls—are they a few as well?) into , she realised that her dry throat and lack of liquid made it hard to swallow. Of course. I’m such a dummy.

She staggered up again, lurched towards the spirits section (and dropping a few hot pink pills), and hauled out the first vodka bottle she could see. Never mind that it was all the way at the back.

Never mind that the victorious feeling of having finally lugged it out also coincided with the sickening thump and crash of glass bottles on the floor.

Success! She stood up again and stuffed all the pills into once again, a few dribbling carelessly down her cheek, a few bouncing lightly on the floor, a few falling into her bottle of vodka, before downing a swig of that burning, delicious liquid.

And again. And again. And again.

Irene knew something was up when Seungwan didn’t return her calls, or reply to her urgent text messages. Seungwan, even in her darkest moments, was a very prompt person, and it was uncharacteristic for anyone’s messages, more so Irene’s, to go unresponded to for so long.

4 hours, ever since 10, and Irene had no response.

Irene’s fragile heart started racing as she tossed on layers upon layers of winter clothes—whatever she could find within a small radius around her—before flicking open her car and launching herself into it. Kickstarting the engine, willing it to move faster, willing the stop lights to disappear.

Willing that the address she remembered (read: stalked) a few months ago would still be correct now.

Irene killed the engine in front of the block, ran past the (empty) security post, and all the way up to the unit she had in mind. She banged the door repeatedly, hoping for a response from inside but getting none. Desperately, she tried to fiddle with the door knob, only to realise that Seungwan had left the door unlocked the entire time.

Thank god, Irene thought. Thank god it’s unlocked.

The first thing Irene noticed as she entered was the blast of cold air—even colder than what she just experience in the wintry night outside—as well as the pitch black darkness of the humble apartment. Worried thoughts hurried through her concerned mind. Why is it so cold? Where is Seungwan?

Fumbling against the walls, her despairing fingers finally thumbed over the light switch and the thermostat. Heart trembling, she turned them both on--the thermostat producing a familiar click, the light bulbs flicking reassuredly on.

Irene’s calm eyes (which belied her rapidly beating heart) flickered across the room--the couch, the TV, the kitchen--before her gaze finally fell on the little figure curled up in the corner of the room.

Dead to the world.

Seungwan was wearing a white garb. Not perfectly white, like the doctor’s coats, but very white nonetheless. Very white in comparison to the black that ghosted her beautiful body for the week prior.

“How are you?” Irene murmured gently, in an attempt to not wake Seungwan up. Though, in reality, she would kill for Seungwan to wake up at that exact moment. The doctor--an indifferent looking 50 year old man--had given her clearance to enter the ward just a few moments prior, explaining that whilst Seungwan was out of the woods, she was still unconscious.

She traced Seungwan’s forehead gently, parting the bangs that she had stubbornly kept ever since her college days, as the first drops of moist liquid left the Alcatraz of her eyes. She had tried to keep her emotions in, but it was hard to do so when she saw Seungwan, the girl who deserved the most in the world, lose her prospective wife, and perhaps even her soul.

The tears, now dribbling with alarming regularity, cascaded down rhythmically onto Seungwan’s white garb, staining it periodically with a new shade of colour. Irene dabbed both her eyes gently, before jerking her head away from the hospital bed. She could see this no longer.

Lifting her handbag off the floor and biting back her tears, she rushed towards the door of the ward, only to be greeted by her attending doctor’s indifferent face.

“Make sure she get’s less wasted during parties next time,” the doctor callously said. Never mind that he just passed judgement without knowing the situation. Never mind that he got it all wrong.

But Irene was in no mood to argue with him. She gave him a curt nod, and hurried out of the room.

“Come, Seungwan,” Irene cooe