She was staring at the fire--watching the orange-and-red flames as they the charring log, hearing the crackles and pops as a chunk fell off and fell outside the pool of ashes in a flood of sparks--when a blanket was wrapped around her, a warm, gentle hand coming to cover her storm-cloud gray eyes.

"You'll damage your vision if you do that." He said, a hint of humor in his tone.

She felt the warmth radiating from his chest on the back of her neck as his scent washed over her--clean and neat, chic like the high-end stores where he bought his clothing, a hint of spicy cinnamon and cool peppermint--and heard the rustle of his clothing fabric as he leaned over the back of the smooth couch, coming closer to her to grasp the thin forearm on her left tightly but somehow gently in his long- left hand.  She flinched in recoil, but tried to remain as motionless as possible.  His right moved from her eyes to her wrist, lightly tracing the raised, rose-painted scars.

"Do you know how sick I felt the first time I saw these?" He asked, still tracing them.  She swallowed, looking up at him only to look down at the light caramel threads of the couch stitching.  She picked at them in anxiety as he carefully followed the white scars where tiny medical stitches had once been sewn into her porcelain skin.  He touched her very delicately, ever cautious not to drive her away by his curiosity.  She hadn't spoken to him once since the time he had met her--almost a year before.
 

She awoke to the sharp, excited squeal of a smaller child, jerking wildly.  She rubbed her eyes, removing the dirt from last night's sobbing.  The child was crawling through the mouth of the tunnel where Mindeulle sat, babbling nothing but nonsense.  The child stopped his noisy commotion when his eyes fell upon her, his head turning to the side cutely as he analyzed her.

"Who are you?" he asked in his high-pitched little boy voice.

Mindeulle gulped, shaking her head quickly.

"You don't gots a name?" His brow furrowed in confusion.

Mindeulle held up her forefinger, signaling him to wait a moment.  She slid out of the tunnel quickly, scanning the small patch of grass surrounding the playground.  Her eyes lit up when she saw the small yellow flower and she quickly snatched it from the ground, running back the the tunnels.  She crawled inside and showed the flower to the little boy.  He looked from the flower, back to her, then back to the flower.

"A dandelion?" he asked. "Your name is...Mindeulle?"

She nodded fervently, her eyes bright.

"Can't ya talk?" he asked.

Mindeulle opened , closed it, then reopened it--almost an accurate semblance of a fish.  She didn't know how to explain that she could speak, she was just taking a vow of silence until her mother returned.  That, and the fact that her mother had always taught her never to talk to strangers.  Even if he was a harmless little boy, he was still a stranger.  So, without knowing how to explain herself, she just shook her head from side to side.

"Ya can't?" He clicked his tiny pink tongue. "Well, my name's Dongchul.  Wanna be my friend?"

Excited by the idea of her first friend, Mindeulle shook her head vigorously, a wide grin stretched across her face.  The smile stretched as far as Dongchul's mouth, but they faded as soon as they heard a woman's voice call out to her son.

"Dongchul-ah!" she shouted. "Time to go home!"

"Coming, Omma!" he replied before turning to face Mindeulle. "Noona, I have to go."

She nodded, a smile pressed to her thin pink lips. "I'll be back to play tomorrow, okay?" he said, swiftly ducking out of the hard plastic tunnel before his mother could call for him again.