Cha-jang!

She stood in front of her mirror. Glancing at her reflection from head to toe, making sure there wouldn’t be anything to soil her seemingly-heaven velvet dress. Why hasn’t she thought of wearing white before? But why should she care now? She has him.

Him, who was the reason behind this moment.

A smile crept on her lips.

What would your reaction be, oppa, when you see me in this dress? I bet you’re going to love it, oppa.

Thoughts ran inside her wits. Oh how she couldn’t wait to see him on the chapel – waiting for her arrival, glancing at her and casting her his smile.

A chuckle escaped from her lips.

Oh, oppa. I really can’t wait to see you.

As she takes a struggling step forward, her long white dress trailing behind, she infiltrates her lungs a deep breath – not that it could help her right now.

She feels the cold ground right beneath her feet. Or was it her own temperature she’s feeling right now?

She could hear her own footsteps echoing inside her room, as if on melancholic soliloquy, filling her ears with songs sang rooted from the core of her heart.

Her eyes darting straight to the door, she knows once she opens that, she would see the sight she was expecting.

I just can’t wait to meet you in the chapel, oppa. You promised forever with me, oppa, right? That not even death can make us apart?

Even death wouldn’t part us.

She arrives at the chapel.

She wouldn’t lie if she were to say she’s not expecting everyone else to cheer on her. But instead of joyous smiles and celebratory tears, she heard series of wails of grief, of misery.

Not that she didn’t know why.

She walked straight to the aisle, still the back train of her dress following her obediently after.

On the aisle, she saw her groom (to be, used to be) At the corner forming liquid, she can see his eyes. She saw him looking at her and casting a smile.

On her dead body.

She smiled bitterly.

You enjoy seeing me in that kind of sight, oppa? You enjoy seeing me in that white dress?

She heard him cry out a sob.

Why are you crying, oppa? Why are you being a fake?

She neared him and blew a kiss to his nape, through the air.

There, there, oppa. Quit crying, please.

Because it doesn’t suit you. Because it’s fake.

As if on reflex, curled and her eyes twitched. She swore she’d never felt this way before – the bittersweet taste of vendetta.

Finally, it’s on her reach. He’s in her leash. She has him.

Once again, Sunn