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Fresh and dewy under her bare feet, the grass bounces, lush and soft as she sprints, laughing into the wind that whips playfully around her hair. Freedom, sweet and blissful and pure - it’s all she’s ever wanted. Jandi runs, runs, runs, and nothing can stop her, not now when the grass is never-ending and the horizon is still so far off in the distance. Her lungs don’t ache the way they do in the waking world. They pump effortlessly, pulling in clean air, and Jandi never, ever wants to wake up from this because -

The musty air in her room felt like it was choking her when Jandi woke. She blinked and scrubbed at her eyes, disoriented by the darkness of an unfamiliar room, and then reality hit and she remembered everything. She wanted to bawl her eyes out all over again.

Clambering out of bed, she winced at the icy floor on her feet. The city was so much wetter and colder than what she was used to. If she were at home right now, the fireplace would be pulsing red and warming the entire little cottage, and Three would be tucked against her side, cuddling his fluffy head of hair into her cheek and making her sneeze. If she were at home right now…

Jandi stopped that train of thought with a savage slap on her own cheek, feeling tears rush, hot and prickly, to the back of her eyes. It was no use to think of a home that wasn’t hers anymore, she knew that. Maybe her family would welcome her back if she visited, but after the debacle of the press conference she had endured yesterday, Jandi had a feeling her new family wasn’t planning to let her visit Geumdo very often, if at all.

Three will be so disappointed.

The thought of her beloved little brother growing up without her, waiting for her to come home only for her never to show up, brought the tears back with a vengeance, and Jandi flopped back into bed, sobbing into her pillow. Why me? Why, of all the rural village girls of marriageable age, why did Do Mansoo have to choose me for his son? Why didn’t Mama and Papa tell me earlier? Why, why, why?

She clutched the pillow to her face, trying to draw comfort from the softness and residual body heat. I’m going to ruin the silk with my tears, she thought, sniffling as quietly as she could. I’ve never had something so nice before in my life, and I’m going to ruin it by crying on it.

This thought, of all things, stopped her sobbing, if only so she could save such a pretty, soft pillow from sure ruinage, and Jandi couldn’t help chuckling tearily at herself for being so affected by something as simple as a pillow. A country bumpkin through and through, that’s what I am to be calmed by a silk pillow.

She patted her cheeks, wincing at how sticky they were with drying tears and snot. No more of this. No more tantrums. She sat up, pulling her nightgown straight, and squared her shoulders. You’re a politician’s wife now, Jandi. Act like one.

Then she remembered what was expected of her - complete subservience to the Do males and political manipulation of her own people - and her stomach roiled. No, being a politician’s wife wasn’t what she wanted. And if she was honest with herself, she wasn’t really on the same level as other politicians’ wives. At least they got to dress nicely and present themselves as demure, graceful women to the public, while she was subjected to mockery and outdated stereotypes about the rural folk. The memory of the horrid dress she had sported at the press conference made her shudder again, this time with anger. Damn politicians.

Jandi heaved herself to her feet. There was no point in stewing in bed all night, she figured, so she might as well go down to the kitchens and make herself a cup of tea. Politicians’ wives were allowed to do that, right? Brewing a cup of tea at midnight couldn’t possibly be construed as unseemly.

Padding down the staircase toward the kitchens, which were as empty and silent as the rest of the mansion, Jandi shivered. This house felt like a ghost house, especially at night. The servants moved around without a sound, and their grey uniforms blended in with the stone walls and dull tapestries, and Jandi hadn’t seen the master of the house or his son home at all. Where do they stay? she wondered. My husband, too - shouldn’t a husband at least stay in the same house as his wife?

But then again, she remembered with a pang that Do Kyungsoo had publicly declared his opinion on having children the previous day. A distraction from his work, he had called them. No wonder he doesn’t spend any time at home. If he doesn’t need an heir from me, he doesn’t need to be around me except for at press conferences. A man like Do Kyungsoo probably has mistresses galore.

The thought bothered her more than it should have. Logically, Jandi knew she had little to no claim on the man. He was her husband in the eyes of the law, and that was it. A contract bound them together, not love or even mutual respect. What business was it of hers if he chose to spend his nights with another woman he did truly care for?

But still, Jandi didn’t like it. The memory of Kyungsoo’s warm brown eyes, his gentle voice that held the crowd in thrall, the way he had so adroitly fended off leading questions from the press - some small part of Jandi hoped that her husband was a decent man she could someday come to care for, or even to love.

Consumed by her thoughts, Jandi didn’t notice the man walking out of the kitchens until she crashed straight into his chest.

“Oh!” She squeaked, stumbling back and nearly tripping over the hem of her nightgown. “I’m - I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s alright.” Jandi froze. That smooth, low voice -- she could recognize it anywhere after the press conference. Her heart rattled in her chest, speeding up.

“K-Kyungsoo?” she asked, squinting in the dark. Indeed, she could just make out the profile of his face.

“Yes, that’s me. Are you lost?” As Jandi’s eyes adjusted a little more, she realized he was holding a sandwich rather awkwardly in one hand, and the surprisingly human sight relaxed Jandi enough to respond coherently.

“I’m not lost. I couldn’t sleep and decided to make myself a cup of tea,” she said timidly. “Is - is that alright?”

“Well, I can’t imagine why not. A cup of tea never killed anyone,” he said, voice low and - was that a tinge of amusement she heard? Was he making fun of her? Jandi puffed up, annoyed. What right did he ha