Inhye is a swan-like in the way she holds herself. Elegant grace belies her every movement, from the gaze of her hazel eyes to the twist of her luscious lips. She lets her hand stay calmly on her lap as she casts her eyes on the mirror before her, staring deeply into the depth of of her own dark orbs-- something she always does whenever she feels the need to find her way back to herself, her very own self. And it often fails every time because the image reflected now is the mixing of both who she is and someone whom she wished she would never be. She tried countless times to escape but she eventually came to a conclusion that no matter how hard she is trying, she will always end up running into herself-- pointless.

Pointless. Everything is pointless in Inhye's life. She wakes up everyday, dreaming of perfect love, clouds and sunshines. Reality is the best dream, they say. Yet, everything happens to be tattered when she drifts off at the end of the day. Clouds are nowhere to be seen, leaving empty landscape in her life. Maybe it didn't rain for others but it always rains for her. A harsh kind of rain-- shattered desires of her glass heart that cut sharper than any warrior's blade. She dreams and dreams and dreams into the darkest hour of the evening, wishing upon the midnight sun. 

Inhye dabs the thick white powder onto her cheek gently, moving her hand ever so lightly to finish up one last motion on her skin. The geisha-like mask smooths itself on the effete skin of hers, never faills to send chills down her spine whenever she sets her eyes on herself despite already being years in this line of work. Inhye would laugh quietly to herself after that. She finds it wrong yet amusing how she is afraid of herself now. It feels like being haunted and trapped in someone else's body. And she dislikes it completely-- not being able to be her true self. 

The door creaks open, injecting a rush wash of anxiety into her blood. Inhye doesn't have to look over to see who has alighted. She recognizes the strong scent everywhere. The marigold perfume is slightly unfavourable to her yet she must not complain as the one with the scent is someone who she should obey the most-- the okasan of the house, her 'mother.'

"He's here." She utters with thick accent. Inhye nods in response, rising from her seat as she clenches onto the finest silks that she clothes herself in. The rich fabrics are bleeding crimson-- her preferred colour of the day. When she lets go of the grip she had onto the cloth, she heaves a quiet sigh abruptly. The sound doesn't escape her mother's ear though. "Straighten your back. Do it the way I taught you." Her voice sounds again, quiet yet strict. Inhye responds right away, standing on her feet straightly unmoving. 

She lowers her head down with her eyes dimming when the woman passes by her. Inhye moves gracefully across the room and reaches over to take her violin before putting it gently over her arm, craddling it protectively as if the old worn-out instrument is her baby. She treasured the violin the most of all her properties-- her precious soul. The violin rests indly on her arm as she makes her way towards the door, taking every step slowly. 

As she passes from room to room, soft laughter can be heard. A familiar melody played with a flute comes from the room on her left, bringing a small smile across her face as she recognizes the sound almost immediately. Inhye brings her legs forward warily when she realizes she has been listening to the flute for awhile. Hyemi's melody never fails to intrigue her. Inhye halts her steps in front of the last room along the hallway. The sillhoutte of a figure's back facing the sliding door is seen. Pushing the door open, she hangs her head down instantly as to show her respect towards the person before her. 

The temperature in the room suddenly feels higher as the hasty gush of smoke lingers in the air. Inhye keeps her head down, trying to breathe properly through the thick air that surrounds the room. She kneels down on both knees, gently placing the violin on her lap. The standing man before her remains silent, leaning against the room wall. Inhye waits for any instructions as she continues to stare down, almost boring a hole on the wooden floor.

"Hot. The weather's hot today."

Inhye looks up at the sudden comment and when she part her lips to reply to him, she notices the tiny bit of frozen snow on the window edges. In that moment, Inhye realises that it has indeed always been raining for her.

Yet, this man in front of her has his life set up on fire.