Xiumin found himself walking in time to each rise and fall of the haunting melody that seemed to press down on his shoulder heavily; his heartbeat slowed to a near standstill, following each grief-ridden note emanating from a distant violin.

The grey mist felt cold, like fingers holding him back, hindering him from moving forward; the wind harsh, pushing him away as if to say "Return, it is not safe here", but the allure of the far-off song was enough to keep him fixed on his path of bitterness and misery.

Deep in his heart, he knew that this place was indeed unsafe - the forest forbidden to him.

"It's a requiem, you know."

req·ui·em  (rkw-m, rkw-)

[Middle English, from Latin, accusative of requis, rest, the first word of the mass for the dead : re-, re- + quis, quiet; see k^wei-in Indo-European roots.]