A/N: To give you a more concrete time period than the vague "late 1700s to mid to late 1800s" I gave at the start, it is currently October 1821 in the fic. Basically, subtract 200 years from the modern-day. And to keep with the setting, their ages operate on the Korean age system.

Current Ages:
Nayeon: 27
Jeongyeon: 26
Momo: 26
Sana: 26
Jihyo: 25
Mina: 25
Dahyun: 24
Chaeyoung: 23
Tzuyu: 23

Hope you all like this chapter as much as I do! 

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There were some days when Mina took random letters from her drawer and started reading. She remembered a time when she didn’t spend most of her time in her bed-chamber. It wasn’t such a fleeting idea with those letters. 

“My dear friend, is it wrong to say I feel a connection with you? I know we only just properly met, so perhaps it is. I just don’t know what to say. I like calling you my dear friend because I’ve never felt like this before with someone. This feels intimate, like letters between lovers. You probably think that’s weird, given the circumstances, yet somehow I can’t stop thinking that this was meant to be. The well brought us together, I believe it. Awaiting your response, the girl by the well.” 

That child-like innocence I had back then. The faith I had in the world. The devoted belief I had to The Legend of The Well. Everything I lost over time, everything that was taken from me, written in these letters, just between the two of us. Responses only a few know, memories we keep, forgotten names. I rewrote that letter. I always kept the drafts I never sent, alongside my friend's responses. For what reason, I’m not sure, but looking back I’m glad I did. 

“Dear the girl by the well, it’s not weird at all, I feel a connection with you too. I believe our meeting was meant to be too. The one thing I know about the village is the well, so why wouldn’t I also believe in it? I have a lot of things I believe in. With where I live, belief and hope are the two things I have. Never in a million years would I have thought I would meet someone like you. I’m glad you started a conversation with me that day, that was the moment my life changed. I hope to see you more often, your dear friend.” 

I hoped for that too. How long has it been since I last saw you? It seems like only yesterday we were standing by the well, deep in a conversation about anything at all. The first time I experienced true joy was with you. We taught each other many things despite barely being thirteen and eleven at the time. I was taught to fight for what I care about. I should have fought harder. 

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So many memories were held there, in the pavilion. Learning to fight from her father, dance from her mother. She saw the indents from her fists punching the tree trunk in the corner and the beaten dummy that lay on the ground next to it.  

“Again!” My father shouted. And I obeyed, because what else was I supposed to do? I punched the same spot repeatedly, occasionally kicking too. “You should be able to fight and defend just as well as the guards,” he told me. “Why?” I asked. “Because even though the guards are good people and good fighters, there will be a time in your life where their protection is not enough,” he said. He holds much respect for guards, I know that, so why did he tell me this? I’m sure it wasn’t his intention but I kept wondering, why wouldn’t their protection be enough? Why do I need to do their job just as well or better than they can? My mind was filled with thoughts of having to defend a guard because they couldn’t defend me. It was sickening to think, the princess, a better fighter than the person who was specifically hired to protect the royal family. I don’t need anyone to protect me. If I can protect myself better than they can, why do they need to be here in the first place? Why do all the people I care about end up falling for one? First, it was my father, so I’ve heard, then it was my brother, and now it’s my best friend. Am I next? Is this my fate? I sure hope not, especially not that infuriating… 

She punched the trunk, leaving a bigger dent. A slight tingling feeling ran through her hand. She was surprised when she saw there was no red on her knuckles. 

I hate guards, but the familiarity about her in particular just makes me feel something I can’t express in words. If there’s even a word I could put to it, I would say lost. 

She moved away from the trunk and sat cross-legged in the middle of the pavilion. 

“Breathe in and out,” he instructed. I followed. “If you end up in a fight, remember to stay calm,” he said. “Never make the other side think you fear them,