Seungwan's always loved things with history. Things that have seen the rise and fall and the glory and sins of yesteryears or even of the early dynasties.

She's an antique restorer. Her exes knew this.

"A good restoration job can enhance the value of the item," she told them when they started dating.

The last girl, like every other exes, took it to heart and expected her to stay around to 'fix' her.

"So you're just gonna leave me? After everything we've been through?" That's what Jennie said after the third time she caught her cheating.

"I think you meant after all you put me through," she said before picking back up the wine she brought to celebrate their first anniversary.

"But I can change! You can make me better!" Jennie begged, hands wrapped around Seungwan's left forearm, kneeling down in nothing but her robe, freshly ed by 'he's just a colleague' who dashed to the door barely dressed two minutes ago.

"I can't, Jen," Seungwan said, yanking her arm to release herself from Jennie's grip. "You were no good to begin with."

So now she's here, at her work studio, downing a bottle of 1982 Leoville Las Cases on her own while attempting to restore something of actual value; a jwagyeong or 'marvelous mirror' from the Joseon dynasty.

This one, like every other jwagyeong, takes the shape of a box; a portable, collapsible mirror and stand, designed to be stored and hidden from sight with ease.

Unlike the common jwagyeong though, this one is extravagant, finished with deep red lacquer, with floral mother-of-pearl inlays, gold-plated floral hinges, fastening, and clasps.

Seungwan begins by lifting the 'lid' to reveal the mirror itself. Nothing much wrong with it except the oxidation of the silver backing towards the bottom, which  is impressive, considering it's a piece from the late 14th to early 15th century.

Unlike her exes, this item is good– very good– to begin with.

The current owner, a halmeoni next door, doesn't know much about the history of this jwagyeong. She just happened upon it at a surplus store, thinking it would make a great gift for her granddaughter after some touch-ups.

Seungwan, though, knows that this piece, most likely, was originally owned by some would-be Joseon bride from some well-off family. Purchased for her by her family well-ahead of the potential wedding with someone she most likely didn't choose herself because arranged marriage was a big thing, if not the thing, back then.

Maybe I should let my mom pick for me, Seungwan thinks, since she's been nothing but a magnet for the 'broken' ever since she started dating.

She thought Jennie was gonna be different.

Seungwan's starting to think that 'it's her' and 'not them.' After all, she's the common denominator in all of her failed relationships.

Maybe she likes history so much that she unconsciously drives everyone to wanna be a part of her past as soon as possible.

She raises a toast to herself in front of the mirror. Happy independence day, she thinks, as she gulps the last ounce of alcohol straight from the bottle.

She sets the empty bottle beside the jwagyeong and examines the piece further.

She pulls one of its two luxuriantly lined drawers.

The top drawer is empty.

The bottom drawer reveals a little piece of hanji folded in half. She gently unfolds it. On it is a short poem that reads:

"Will I ever wake up to a world
Where a queen
Does not need a king,
To rule a kingdom?"

"Well, how about another queen, gongju?" Seungwan slurs, bringing her face closer to the mirror.

The mirror fogs up, and Seungwan knows, even in her intoxicated state, that her hot breath cannot be the cause of it. She leans back, and what she sees is on another level of otherwordly; she sees a hand wiping the mirror clear from the other side.

Then a face.

A face that definitely doesn't belong to her because she will never find herself that beautiful even after copious amounts of alcohol.

She's pretty sure, though, that that face is what the evil witch saw when she asked 'who's the fairest of them all.'

An actual gongju. White skin. Long, raven hair. In a purple dangui.

Except Seungwan isn't a witch, and Seungwan didn't pose a question.

At least not that question.

The young woman in the mirror shakes her head and blinks several times, also seemingly not understanding how the heck and what the heck is happening. All she knows is she wrote a poem on a piece of paper, folded it in half, then placed it in the bottom drawer of jwagyeong her mother and father gifted her, only to watch it disappear before her very eyes moments before hearing a voice she did not recognize ask if she wanted another queen instead. The mirror then fogged up, and what she saw when she wiped it clear wasn't herself.

The face staring back at her wide-eyed isn't hers.

The shoulder-length brunette hair isn't hers.

The crimson cheeks aren't hers.

The plain white collared shirt isn't hers.

As far as Joohyun knows, she's supposed to see herself in a mirror.

"What in the world…?" They say in unison.