A/N; Holy people still read this? I am C R Y I N G, some of its a bit cheesy for me to handle which is extraordinarily ironic because I'm the sap who wrote all of it. Yeah, for a while I was embarassed by my writing but people still comment after nearly two years without an update- blows my mind really. Anyways, if the writing seems a bit different its because I've grown up a little and want to explore how/what I write, and this chapter is a little intense/dark (well for someone like me anyways). Anyways here we go- END OF A/N

For the first time in quite a while, Byeol had a dreamless sleep. Usually flashes of her mother greeted her before she opened her eyes and forgot all about them but this time it was peaceful, almost serene. She felt like she was drifting in a pool of salt water underneath a starless sky, her limbs somehow feeling as if they were detatched and floating away from her. But alas, no one can stay like this forever. Byeol was six years old again, sitting in the living room of a small, run down house, scribbling with the crayons. She used the newspaper lying around to draw a badly mishaped figure of a man who comes to visit sometimes- uncle Seunghyun. She liked uncle Seunghyun because he always brought the little red sweets she loved when he visited, but sadly he was appearing less and less these days. 

Suddenly, her mother softly calls out her name and now Byeol is looking down at her six year old self instead of through the child's eyes. Her mother calls her name again. 

"Don't go," she whispers to the child, but unfortunately she cannot hear her. The child puts down the purple crayon and cautiously starts to make her way to the kitchen. Byeol knows what comes next, but the child doesn't. Byeol doesn't move from where she stands, instead choosing to stay against the wall. 

"Don't," She says, louder this time but the child continues to make its slow, small steps towards the kitchen door. The eerie light, flooding the doorway and obscuring her view into the kitchen. The older Byeol, stands and hides in the darkness unlike the brave child who goes to her mother's call. The child disappears out of her sight and for a moment- there is silence. Not the calming silence you feel when there is nothing to be heard, no, this was the anticipation of what was about to happen. The heartwretching, gut feeling of terror seeping into the pores of your body that causes your heart to clench. 

Then it happens. 

The soft gurgling of water is followed by the sound of the child gasping, Byeol is frozen in time and suddenly she's a child once more. Her head is underwater but she can still take gasps of air. Confusion follows, but part of her knows this is a dream. Her breathing is broken, while fear causes blood to thunder around her body. She recalls the feeling of her head being pressed down onto the cold bottom of the sink. She's fighting against the hand on her neck but the scratches of her nails does nothing. Suddenly she doesn't see the water or the sink, just darkness with speckles of light in front of her. Then with a gasp, she wakes up. 

BYEOL POV. 

The room is dark and the curtains are drawn, but I could tell from the light that pushed through the edges that it was late afternoon. I woke up alone, which if I'm honest I really prefered at a time like this. My breathing was erratic and uncoordinated, still coming down from shock but the memory of what I was dreaming about slowly fades from my mind. I take this chance to distract myself an observe the room I'm in. It's painfully white, and I already despise it. The small, single person bed was against the wall while a chest of drawers stood at the foot of it. Two shelves on the left of the door opposite me held books- ones I knew I'd be unable to read. Other than that it had basic, standard furniture- it almost made me uncomfortable how much of a showroom for a department store it looked like.  On the wall that faced me directly if I sat up was a picture of a meadow of flowers. An odd choice as it was a badly taken photo but yet someone liked it enough to nail it into the wall. 

I get out of the bed, and see if there are any clothes to change into since I still wore the hanbok. Opening the top left, it was filled with loose, baggy clothing that I had no problem shoving on. A sweatshirt, hoodie and sweat pants was what I was used to. But what really puts me on edge is tha lack of supervision I am recieving. I mean, after being attacked you would think they would try and find some sort of way to restrain me or at the very least watch over my every movement. Yet, I am alone. 

Cracking open the door I make my way through the unexplored house of Jeju Island, my footsteps make no noise as I slowly pad