The silver linings on the closet made the furniture a perfect place to cage Taemin in temporarily. The originally sickly boy was afraid of touching the metal that would've been lethal to him. Yoojung stabbed his mattress, again and again, under the lights of the pale moon of Seoul that was pooling into the room of the hospice. The foam was in parts and shreds now where she had planted her silver blade repeatedly, with wool and cotton dancing ever so gently against the moonlight. The serenity was surreal and ironic against what she was doing in this moment. Neither hers nor Taemin's hearts were beating normally. 

It was strange how quiet everything was besides all the stabbing that she was doing. It was so quiet, the night so serene in contrast, that Yoojung swore she could hear her own heartbeat. Despite being locked in while conscious, Taemin did not utter a single plea nor word of desperation. There was no sigh of him begging for mercy, or asking her for release. They merely listened noiselessly to her incessant stabbing of his bed, as if that was the only rhythm that they could hang onto to keep their own hearts and minds going at the moment. 

Yoojung knew it was ridiculous, being a human, but she thought she could almost smell fear in the air. She could imagine Taemin in the claustrophobic space of the dark closet, biding time and praying this nightmare would be over. He would be repeating in his head the words of a silent prayer, one that she would not be willing to answer. She let her blade glide across the ruined surface of his mattress one last time before walking over to the cupboard, blade still clasped securely in her hand. She could feel her own smirk forming on her face. Despite the power that she felt in this moment, over a supernatural being no less, Yoojung did not like it at all. 

She just needed to knowing something, and her answers would be behind that door to the closet, held within the tight lips of a quivering creature. 

She jumped off his mutilated mattress with a resounding thud created by her combat boots. She played with the blade in her hand, a taste of bitterness in as she imagined at the back of her head how she might appear now. Menacing? Malicious? Strong and overpowering? These felt almost foreign to her, yet the way her limbs moved confidently forward without her conscious deliberation suggested otherwise. Perhaps she had this venomous nature in her all along. 

Her hand lay itself on the cold silver handle of the closet that turned out to be much larger up close. She could hear a low heaving inside the furniture, and for a lack of better word, Yoojung swore she could smell the fear within Taemin. 

"One last time Taemin. Who did you tip off?" Yoojung heard herself hiss. Her vindictiveness sounded almost distant. 

When she was met with silence again, Yoojung pulled the closet open, her blade ready to meet the neck of the werewolf she'd been ever so wary of. 

Except, who she saw wasn't just a shivering werewolf. 

In Taemin's arms, quivering like a scared child, was her mother, eyes darting around aimlessly as if she was shocked out of her mind. 

"Don't...kill me..." She muttered. Yoojung's silver blade reflected a single spot of moonlight onto the faces of Taemin and her mother. 

"Don't kill us." 

"What?"

"Don't kill us." 

Taemin's words knocked the air out of her lungs, leaving her motionless with the blade still resting dangerously close to his pulse in the neck region. She watched as he wrapped his arms around her mother, who was perfectly comfortable with clinging onto Taemin for life. 

"I'll never hurt her," she said in a fearful whisper.  

She started hyperventilating, her heart beating against her chest so violently she thought it was leaping out of . Her vision was dizzy. Her blade was slipping out of her grasp. In her mind, something gnawed at her. This could be a single fatal mistake. 

"You're the mistake. You're the monster." 

Then Yoojung felt like she was plunging into a the sea, a sea of painful thoughts and disturbing sensations. When she finally struggled afloat, she was in bed. 

--

Yoojung woke up with a startle, sitting bolt right up to meet two pairs of worried eyes. She was gasping madly for air, memories of the drowning in her dream still vivid. She grasped madly around for support, anything that could let her stay above the water's surface. Two arms shot out immediately to grasp her shaking ones, but it was Jongdae's voice that brought some sense into her at that moment. 

"Yoojung, Yoojung! Stop flailing. You're safe," he put his other arm over her head, running his palm gently on the back of her head to soothe the screaming girl. "You're safe." Yoojung found reality again through his low whisper. She tried to struggle free from his embrace, but eventually gave in to its comfort. On her left, Yixing did not let go of her arm. She felt a soothing warmth running through her, and she supposed it had to do with the therapist's powers. 

When she finally calmed down, the boys pulled back on their seats to reveal the single person she wished to see this very moment. 

Her mother, with some colours creeping back on her previously lifeless cheeks again, looking at her with worry and what she thought was a hint of recognition. 

"Junggie." 

That single nickname alone, used only between her mother and herself, was enough to bring waves of emotion in her. 

"Mum?" 

It struck her that after months of senile blabbing and incoherent ramblings, her mother finally recognised her, and was demonstrating the appropriate emotion that a mother should be showing her child. She was not cursing under her breath about supernatural stuff, not muttering Jesus every half a minute, and most definitely not  looking at her own daughter with confusion. Junggie launched her stiff body off the bed and took her mum into an all too familiar hug, with the older woman catching her readily and caressing her gently on her back. 

"My love, you've done amazing thin