a cottage named destiny

They say she never left.

A phantom of the past, a fleeting image of what was once but was gone. A Child of Darkness, unable to step where the light shines freely, trapped between the dim shadows of the old house.

Lady Sooyoung

She was the daughter of an influential man from a well-respected family set to be engaged to the heir of an equally powerful clan. A strong-willed young woman, she put up a fight for what was to be her future but the old man Choi has said the final word. On the eve of her nineteenth birthday, she fled the comforts of her home and found herself on that little cottage at a clearing in the middle of the woods. Miles from the grand and luxurious walls of their family mansion, she found her place, her freedom, on the safe and dark corners of the wooden house.

Her story ended many, many years ago on a night before the last remnants of fall faded slowly to welcome the first snow of winter. When her father along with her fiancée and his men arrived at the cottage, they found her on the comforts of her dark bedroom. A bottle of poison, empty and hollow, lay still on the floor inches from the tips of her lifeless arm.

Years have passed and the little village surrounded by the woods aged along with it. The villagers still talk about it in hushed whispers; the quaint little town’s own legend. Some say that on clear moonlit nights, Lady Sooyoung walks under the shady canopy of her porch; her presence casting an eerily beautiful glow towards that certain part of the house. The woods breathe a silent warning of a foreboding presence and as if upon understanding, souls, no matter how brave, leave the place as soon as they lay their feet on its dusty floors.



--

One bright autumn afternoon, the inhabitants of the sleepy little town watch curiously as a scruffy pick-up truck stops in front of the village square near the edge of the woods. A handsome young man steps out of the rattling vehicle and offers a warm smile to the inquisitive crowd. He speaks softly and introduces himself as Shim Changmin, a self-supporting artist who happened to pass by the village one day as he made his way to another city.

The village leader steps out from the crowd and extends his hand. A quiet elderly man with more lines on his face than the palms of his hands. He looks at the stranger through gentle but questioning eyes, carefully choosing the right words as he welcomes him.

The young man tells him of the mystery and serenity the village has that appealed to him. He looks at the woods, his eyes resting on the top of the trees glittering like golden roofs in the light of the setting sun and gives enigmatic smile.

I feel like it is calling me.



--

Barely a few months shy of his twenty-third birthday, Changmin puts his faith that it is in this village that he’d be able to find what has been driving him to move from place to place in search of something he has no idea of. He once thought he has found it on the company of his peers, at the excited glimmer of lively party lights and youthful sounds. Yet, he still wakes up on certain nights empty and yearning; his last memory always of the fading dream of the face of a woman he doesn’t remember he has ever met.

On how deep the void he has inside of him, it was never shown on his handsome face. Albeit tight-lipped and quiet, he exudes an aura of warmth for ever shy smile or gentle nod of his head.

It is this unexplainable, inexpugnable warmth that he has brought into that dark little cottage.



When the leaves of the surrounding trees, like green feathers lacing the auburn sky, start to dance to the rhythm of the evening breeze, the glade – that bald patch of trees where the cottage stands – gets enveloped in ethereal darkness. It disappears into the black-tinted night until the pale light of the silver moon shines above it like a spotlight.

It is during this time of the day, when the sinking sun, like the red twin of the rising moon, draws its final breath that the lady of the house rises up from her slumber.

This Daughter of the Dusk, of a past that lives on to the present, wanders along the vacuous space of her own kingdom. She walks gracefully above the aged wooden boards, her feet avoiding the spots of light pooling on the dusty floor. She lurks in the shadows, afraid to traverse where darkness vanishes to make way for the silver stains of moonlight. The house echoes not of her footsteps, but of the heavy breathing of the night. She sits on the shady porch, her favorite spot, observing the gloomy sway of trees when she hears the sound of footsteps.

Her eyes dart nervously towards the direction of the hallway, angry thoughts racing at the back of her mind.

Had another mortal dared trespass her abode?

These beings, creatures of the present, with their existence fueled by light. The thought of those living creatures sharing a space that is rightfully hers sends a jolt of anger – and was it fear? – to her entire being.

She barely remembers how it was like when she was one of them. All that she knows is that she is different.

Avoid the light. Keep away from the living. Avoid the light. Keep away from the living.

The words echo once again on her mind. She can feel her impalpable heartbeat beating through the soles of her shoes. She passes through the solid wall and seeks refuge in an empty room that was once a pantry. She pulls a door ajar and takes a peep at the corridor.

And there, she sees him.

Disgruntled and half-awake, he has in one hand a candle and on the other a glass of water. She retreats into the shadows as he passes by the hall in front of her as he treads back to his room. He stops short in front of the bedroom door and jerks his head at her direction.

The heavy darkness filling the lobby grows lighter as it touches his skin. His eyes paint ten thousand emotions and the mysterious curve of his lips spells beauty and a rather curious guise of loneliness. Nevertheless, his entire being breathes life as a gentle gust of warmth spreads across the room.

She moves deeper into her hiding place, befuddlement etched on her pale face, until he opens the door and disappears into his room.



--

Lady Sooyoung

The young man named Changmin smiles as he recalls the tale of the elderly village head.

A rather heartbreaking story, he tells him. She never met the man who was destined for her.

Was it destiny, son? They have never met.



He notices the strange look the elderly man gives him but he keeps the answer to himself. He returns to the cottage afterwards, summons a pen on the drawers of his working table, and sits on the porch with stacks of paper around him.

He takes in the gentle rustling of the trees, the faraway hoot of an owl, the song of the woods; closes his eyes and smiles. He starts writing notes, the pen moving fluidly across the blank sheet of paper.

Sooyoung watches this strange creature from the safety of the dark pantry. Creature of Light. No, he must be the Child of the Sun, itself. The warmth he carries and the way the tiny beams of the dying ball of fire fall upon him like a shower of gold tells it so.

Such a beautiful creature.

She hums to herself before the echoes of reality drown that tiny whisper.

AVOID THE LIGHT. KEEP AWAY FROM THE LIVING.

He is from her future. Though she can reach out to him from the small space they share, they are separated by the imperceptible vacuum of time. Two souls bridged by the never-ending present.



Changmin stays at the porch, occasionally leaving to make himself a meal, until the last light of day leaves the earth. He gathers his belongings and steps back into the house to light the lamps. For a fortnight, his days go like this.

And for a fortnight, she watches him silently.



--

The hushed whispers of the villagers never died. As it may be, it became more frequent.

How did this young man lasted weeks in that ill-fated cottage?

Whether the rumors reach him, nobody knows. He appears on the village shop and buys a blank sketchbook and freshly sharpened pencils. His bright expression shows no signs of leaving the place. As if he has made the place his home. The villagers never thought that it would be the last they will see of him.



--

Perhaps, it is home.

He thinks to himself one night as he lights the lone lamp in his room. Amid the absence of modernity, he found solace on the old wooden walls of the cottage. Somehow, he feels like he has long stepped here. The flame moves like a red tongue against the brittle glass and his thoughts fly to the land where reality dissolves into the sphere of dreams.



--

He meets her when the heavy stillness of the dark melts into the slow warmth of early dawn. She stands on the shadows, like how she usually does, when she sees him moving towards her. The golden sunbeams usually blanketing him like a halo is now gone- replaced by the faint light of the moon falling like melted diamonds against his hair.

He stops a few steps from her, silent and unmoving. He raises his hand, beckoning her to come close and she lets out an inaudible gasp. The shadows no longer stop where his presence falls. The darkness which used to cower from his light now passes through his form.

Sooyoung stares at this being, her Child of the Sun, and felt invisible tears cloud her sight. The Creature of Light is gone – left the brightness of the present to rest on the welcoming arms of the Dark.

He moves closer towards her, translucent arms wide open. Her eyes search for answers and he gives it back with the sincere smile on his handsome face.

Suddenly, forever shrinks into a mere moment and eternity is but a day. The long cold shrouding her vanishes as the warmth, the forbidden warmth, he once had given strikes her with so much force. She gazes back to those deep eyes and a shy smile forms on her lips.

She takes his hand and in a blink of an eye, they are gone.



--

When the strange young lad failed to show up on the market bread stall he usually visits every morning, the elderly village head bravely walked up the glade in the middle of the woods and was welcomed with dusty shelves and an empty house. He has taken a step out of the house when his eye catches a glint of white folded neatly between the banisters of the porch.

He took out the paper, spread open the sheet, and let out a silent prayer.

It was a sketch of the young artist and a woman he has only seen on the faded photographs of his great-great-grandfather’s ancestral home.

Shim Changmin and Lady Sooyoung

A/N: for haestare and jiyunday ♥