Chapter Text
“Where the hell have you been?” He snarls, words slurred and sharp.
Mira doesn’t look up from her bag. By now, her father’s rage was almost like a routine.
She’d only snuck out to breathe and escape the suffocating silence of her room. No drinking, no smoking. What was initially supposed to be just an hour with her best friend where she didn’t have to walk on eggshells turned into a six hour absence.
She may or may have not fallen asleep at their house and lost track of time. She was supposed to leave at 9PM and return at ten.
Now it’s 3AM.
“Nowhere.” Mira murmurs, voice low and still heavy with sleep. She burrows into her hoodie just a bit more, trying to use the thick fabric like armor against the sour heat of his breath. He reeked of alcohol even through the hoodie.
“If you’re drunk again–so help me–” His words crackled and gave way into a laugh that wasn’t humorous even in the slightest.
She swallows a growl coming from her throat. It was one time.
She tripped over her own feet once, having drank way past her tolerance. It was the one time she couldn’t think to puke it all up before she came home.
“I’m not,” she bites out, shooting him a level stare. “I didn’t do anything this time.”
“Don’t you dare talk back to me.” His lip curled, “Thirteen fucking years old, and you think you’re smarter than me? You think I don’t see what you are?” Spit flew with every syllable, his face glowing red and twitching with unconcealed wrath. “Ungrateful little bitch–everything you ask is handed to you, and you still run.”
The words should ache, should feel like a knife slashed across her skin, but Mira can’t find it in herself to flinch anymore. She stopped that a long time ago.
“You think the world owes you something?” He asks, tone open at the end as if an invitation to answer.
If that isn’t a trap, I don’t know what is. Mira thinks.
“You’re nothing but a problem waiting to happen. Nothing but trouble through and through.”
“You’re always so mean, Rumi!” Azalea screeches, taking a protective stance in front of Reira.
Reira watches Rumi’s movements with wide eyes that are still blazing in spite of her cowering behind Azalea. She’s still upset about Rumi pointing out the obvious. Why?
“I’m not mean!” Rumi hisses, “She’s just too incompetent to understand a simple move!”
Her hiss doubles in venom when she gestures at Reira, “I don’t even know why you’re defending her! She’s literally the reason you’re getting hit so much!”
Azalea huffs incredulously, “At least she apologizes! You don’t even bother!”
Rumi’s fist twitches around the buzzing in her palm. She can feel the faint weight of her saingeom in her hand, but she tries her best to fight the urge to call it. Not here, not over something as simple as this.
“You just give me that look, like Hey, you idiot, get the hell up. Then you make us do it again!” Azalea snaps.
Rumi lets out a humorless chuckle, teeth clenched as though the sound alone could keep her fury from erupting.
“What do you want me to say, Azalea?” She groans, feigning exasperation. “That was amazing! Wowie, good job taking twenty minutes to get your aim correct before you throw?”
Azalea stiffens, cheeks flushing.
“And when you do throw you still miss!” Rumi whips around to point exaggeratedly at the divots in the ground beside the test-dummy.
“The.. wood these mock weapons are weird!” Azalea fires back, voice significantly tinier now.
Rumi groans, hands dragging down her face. “If you can’t hit your marks with a mock weapon, how in hell do you expect to hit them when Celine gives you a real weapon? You’ll slice us to shreds before any of us realize you were even aiming for something else!”
“The least you could do is ask before you go!” Her father cracks his fist on her doorframe, making the ground shake ever so slightly.
Mira feels her restraint slipping.
“Maybe–just fucking maybe–we might actually say yes for once!”
The buzzing under her skin explodes like an active volcano, overwhelming her restraint and forcing it into submission.
“You wanna know why I don’t fucking ask you?!” Mira screeches, her eyes black with the same kind of rage she inherited from the man she sees in front of her. “It’s because I already know the goddamn answer!”
The fabric of her hoodie now just feels like spikes dragging against her skin, driving her even further up a wall.
“I ask SO politely! I use everything you’ve ever taught me and you still shoot me down.” She continues, rage boiling over.
“And that’s if you even feel like acknowledging my presence in this artificial fucking house!”
Her father pauses, the fact she’d finally yelled back registering. Mira’s anger dissolves the moment his already black eyes darken further.
“You fucking parasite!”
Mira only has seconds to take a step backward before his hand clenches her wrist so hard she fears it might break. He yanks her close. So close she can almost taste the liquor on his breath.
“I raised a fucking mistake.” He yowls, spit flinging from his mouth and landing on her face. She has half the mind to recoil and wipe it off.
“No. I didn’t raise you.” He says it like it was a revelation, “The streets did!”
“You are no child of mine, nor Eun-seo’s. You are just a mistake I should’ve erased a long time ago.”
“Appa–” Mira chokes out, trying to shuffle away, tears brimming her eyes.
“NO!” He tosses her wrist, sending her flying. She fights to regain her balance, hands miraculously catching on her dresser.
“I’m sorry–I don’t know why I said that! I didn’t mean it!”
Her father lunges forward and reels his fist back to crack it across her cheek.
The sound is sickening.
Mira hits the floor.
“GET OUT!” His scream is so loud it makes her ears ring.
Mira lets out a shaky breath, pressing her hand to her warm cheek. It feels stiff under her fingers, already swelling.
She stares at him with eyes wide like saucers, bloody teeth bared in a soundless snarl like an aggressive mutt.
Her gaze slides over to her mother in the doorway, her face twitching as if she wanted to do something, arm slung over her little brother’s shoulders. He’s hugging her, as if he’s frightened. But she can see the smug grin on his face clear as day.
The look in her eyes makes her look like a scared dog, ready to bite if anybody got too close. Not out of malice–but out of fear. It’s enough for her mother to look away.
Mira looks back to her father, his face contorted with resentment.
She can feel his disgust as if it were being transmitted directly to her.
She knows what her father sees when he looks at her.
Her father sees a wild, animalistic beast–blood trickling out of its panting and drooling mouth like it just completed a kill–with his wife’s face.
Not the daughter he once had.
“Get. OUT!” He screeches again.
“GET AWAY!” Azalea shouts, waving the wooden knives around as Rumi takes a stiff stride forward.
Rumi lunges so fast neither Reira nor Azalea have a second to blink. She slams into Azalea, knocking the knives from her grip. The two crash to the ground, Azalea’s screech echoing through the garden.
Reira fumbles to the side, eyes wide.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Azalea shrieks, thrashing beneath Rumi.
Rumi doesn’t answer, her pupils are thin, teeth bared, breath coming in harsh and animalistic bursts. She grabs Azalea’s wrist and drives it into the dirt with a force that makes her cry out.
She does it again. Harder this time.
“Rumi!” Reira wails, panic thick in her tone. She lunges forward, hands clawing at Rumi to pull her off. “Stop! Stop–you’re hurting her!”
Rumi jerks her head in Reira’s direction, lips curled back in a feral snarl. The sight is enough to freeze Reira where she stands, hands trembling inches from Rumi’s shoulder.
“ENOUGH!”
Celine’s booming shout cracks like thunder in everyone’s ears. She doesn’t hesitate to slam the butt of her practice spear against Rumi’s ribs, it’s a rude awakening and it has enough force to knock Rumi right off of the girl.
Azalea scrambled back, clutching her arms, tears flowing despite her furious glare. Reira drops to her side, checking over her.
Rumi heaves, on all fours, hair falling out of her braid and into her face. Her hands curled like claws, giving no indication she’s even human anymore.
Celine plants herself between them, spear raised toward Azalea. Yet her eyes are sharp and steady as they lock solely on Rumi.
“I don’t know what that was,” Celine spits, tone commanding. The first part of the sentence was loud enough for Azalea and Reira to hear it. Then quieter, for Rumi alone, “Get it together. Now.”
Rumi’s chest seizes with each huffing breath, but she doesn’t move.
Azalea sniffles, fingers working into her wrists. “She’s lost her fucking mind,” she whispers, pointedly looking away from Rumi. “She’s a monster.”
Celine bristles, jaw clenching infinitely times harder. She leans toward Rumi, knowing how she might react to that word. “Language, Azalea.” She spits, eyes trained on Rumi still.
Reira flinches when Rumi’s stare flicks to her, but her voice is steady and defiant. “Azalea’s right. Rumi’s out of control!”
Neither of them notice the way Celine doesn’t lower her spear or the way her gaze stays locked on Rumi, like she’s staring down a dangerous predator getting ready to strike.
“See?” Azalea spits from the corner of her mouth, glancing sharply at Reira. “A monster. Even Celine knows it.”
“Enough,” Celine barks, head whipping around to glare at the two girls. Her spear stays leveled at them, preventing any more rebuttals.
“Both of you, go home.”
“What?” Azalea’s voice pitches high with disbelief. “You can’t just send–”
“I can.” Celine doesn’t raise her voice, but the steel in it makes Azalea quiet. “Now go.”
Reira rises and hesitates, torn between obeying and being cross with Rumi. “But.. what about–”
“I’ll deal with it.” Celine’s eyes flicker back to Rumi. “You two aren’t needed here anymore, we can reschedule your training tomorrow.”
Azalea opens her mouth to argue, but Reira lets out a chuff that wobbles the line between fury and fear. “Come on,” she mutters to Azalea, tugging her up. “Let's just go.”
They retreat, Azalea muttering furious protests under her breath while Reira all but drags them away. Neither look back.
Only once their footsteps fade does Celine move the spear. She exhales slowly and presses the butt of it against Rumi’s shoulder, keeping her glued to the ground in case she decides to explode on Celine next.
“You lost control.” Her voice is low and sharp with restrained frustration. “Do you understand what could’ve happened if they really were the ones to train beside you?”
Rumi doesn’t answer. She’s just staring at the ground, panting and trembling like she’s fighting something inside of herself.
Celine lowers down, crouching on her knees in front of her. She leans forward ever so slightly, eyes narrowing. “If Azalea or Reira had been chosen by the Honmoon–if they had the slightest idea, your secret would be gone.”
“And then what, Rumi?” Celine let her voice run airy at the end, portraying exasperation. “Do you think they’d still stick with you? You think they’d still call you ‘friend?’”
The words cut like a blade, mainly because Rumi already knows the answer.
Rumi’s breathing quickens, Celine can feel the pressure against her spear. For a moment, it seems as if Rumi might lash out again.
Celine holds her breath, watching the way her legs twitch like she’s ready to spring again.
Then her words really sink in. Do you think they’d still call you ‘friend’?
The fight seeps out of Rumi all in one fell swoop.
Her arms give way, forehead hitting the dirt. A strangled sound tears clear from her throat–half a sob, half a growl, the sound muffled by the ground beneath her.
Her hands, still curled like claws, tremble violently in the ground until they’re just shaking fists pressed against the side of her head.
Celine softens, frustration ebbing. She eases the spear but doesn’t lower it. She’s made that mistake before.
Rumi pushes herself upright on shaking legs, wiping furiously at her face as tears stream down in hot, messy lines. She doesn’t look at Celine, doesn’t dare.
“I didn’t mean–” Her voice cracks. “I didn’t–”
The words fall apart on her tongue.
Celine pushes herself up with the spear.
Rumi takes a step backward. Then another. And another, as if the distance itself might erase what just happened.
The spear slips off of her shoulder and Celine tightens her grip around it, ready to defend herself if Rumi gets a second wind. “Rumi,” her tone is softer now, layered with sympathy.
She reaches out toward Rumi, palm exposed, fingers relaxed and not tense. But Rumi just jerks away like she’d been burned.
Her eyes–wide, one eye glowing amber, and wet with tears–meet Celine’s for a brief and broken second.
Then she bolts.
Celine takes a step forward, her held out hand twisting to reach out for Rumi before she could run. “Rumi!—”
But Rumi has already disappeared around the corner before Celine can even think to start running after her.
Mira stumbles out of the door, narrowly avoiding whatever object her father picked up and hurtled at the back of her head.
At first it was her backpack that he snatched from her closet at the base of the steps. She didn’t want to know how he knew. Her brother had actually flinched when the bag nearly knocked Mira over when it came hurtling at her chest.
She screamed something at her father after just barely catching it, then had to duck when another object got chucked at her head.
Her hoodie ruffles in the wind, hiding most–if not all–of her features.
The backpack she packed with clothes and other essentials for when she finally made the decision to run away clunked with every step. Something was off about it though. It felt lighter.
Mira doesn’t have time to dwell on it. She can hear her father screeching something at the top of his lungs at her, a drunken slur of: “Never fucking return!” and “If I see you again I’ll kill you myself.”
She doesn’t turn around anymore. She doesn’t stop running either.
She doesn’t stop when she trips over a loose twig on the forest floor, not when she almost gets hit by a car for randomly jutting out into the road, and she certainly doesn’t stop when the person steps out of their car and asks if she’s alright.
She only stops when she reaches an alley after a handful of minutes running.
Her legs ache and buckle, making her collapse onto the concrete.
She coughs up a mouthful of blood and spits a tooth onto the ground (thank the stars it was only a baby tooth).
Mira’s knees slice open when they scrape against the pathway, but against the ache in all of her muscles, she barely feels it.
She shoves the backpack off of her shoulder, breath coming in shallow gasps. Where’s the wad of cash she saved up?
The last time she checked, it was there.
No.
Back pocket.
Not there.
No. No no no.
Front pocket.
Not there.
Please no.
Her vision blurs with tears as the realization really dawns on her.
He knew where it was because he went through it while she was gone.
The bastard took her money and purposefully kicked her out. He knew she wouldn’t survive without money.
Mira’s body begins to tremble with the weight of her sobs. Something inside her cringes and she forces her voice to be quiet. She doesn’t feel like hearing herself cry right now.
Her teeth clench and clench until she swears she hears her molars creaking. The sound echoes in her skull like the splintering of bone.
Mira stumbles into an abandoned building. The walls are littered with graffiti and dust, but there’s a path in the corner that doesn’t seem to be very affected by dust and age.
Her cheek stung, but the twisting in her chest drowns it out.
The severity of her situation has really begun to hit her. She has no home now, and most likely no parents anymore. Just an abandoned child with no money, phone, or connection to anyone. She bends down to unfold the blanket in her backpack, using that as something to lay on.
It wasn’t much, just a red blanket stretched out among a dusty and cracked floor with her backpack as a makeshift pillow, but it was enough to allow her to sleep the exhaustion in her limbs off. Part of her wants to sleep and never wake.
But even she knew that wouldn’t work unless she was truly dying. And she knew she wasn’t.
She had a swollen cheek, a missing tooth, scraped knees, and a heart that felt like it was shattering in two.
Mira lets out a sigh, shoulders drooping.
Her first objective was to sleep and figure out something to do in the morning.
Some way she can get some money to at least survive off of tiny snacks from whatever gas station she can find.
She’s slow to move, but eventually curls up on the blanket and shoves her hood down over her face. The blanket reeks of the artificial detergent the housekeepers used. The smell makes her cringe.
She doesn’t cry, doesn’t move–doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even close her eyes. Just lied there, thinking.
Thinking about how she’ll manage.
Thinking about how she’ll manage to continue her schoolwork.
Thinking about how she can get in contact with someone–a distant relative if needed–so that they can give her somewhere to be instead of an abandoned building.
Mira wouldn’t admit it aloud, but being wealthy from birth means that she never really figured out how to struggle for her survival.
Sure her father was a rageful drunk and her mother was resentful, but they still gave her whatever she asked for in hopes that maybe–just maybe–she’ll shut up and stop bothering them.
How is the unruly daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Seoul going to survive living on the street? She never learned to bargain for a bed or wait in line for food. She’d just ask for what she wanted and she’d get it within thirty minutes.
Her body shook and jerked every time a gust of cold wind swept through the cracks and holes in the walls. Even under an oversized black hoodie and grey sweatpants, the chill in the spring air seeped under her clothes and burrowed in her skin.
The graffiti on the walls blurred in the dark, the colors beginning to melt into the shadows. Mira stared until her eyes burned, then let them fall closed. But not from exhaustion, from the weight of everything that happened pressing her down.
It’s been two weeks since that night and now, Mira was confident she was getting used to this.
Mornings were chilly, but were damp and humid enough to where she wasn’t freezing but not hot either.
She packed her stuff in the morning, pressed everything into her backpack, and set off to find somewhere to stay.
She does a routine every time she wakes up.
Scout somewhere safe and devoid of dirt and bugs.
Set up a blanket in the corner and ensure nothing can sneak behind her and stab her in her sleep.
Sleep.
Wake up and pack up.
Leave and repeat.
At one point she contemplated pickpocketing for money.
Then she tried it, got caught, ran at least a mile off of adrenaline alone, and only then did she lose the screaming banshee she tried to steal from.
She stood before the makeshift bed, hand on her hip, the other fiddling with her collar.
This was fine.
Everything. Is. Fine.
Mira kept telling herself she was fine.
She kept telling herself that the sharp stabbing in her stomach was just some bug she probably got from all the dirty buildings and aged floors. Not hunger.
She kept telling herself money would show up somewhere she can buy something to eat.
She was fine.
Another ripple of pain passed through her stomach and made her wince. It was starting to get harder to stand upright with how frequently her stomach churned with hunger.
Mira sucked air through her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to focus on the hunger just yet.
She’s fine.
Everything is fine.
Rumi kept running until her legs began to ache. And even then, she just slowed to a brisk walk.
What was she thinking?
Attacking Azalea like that, letting her anger swallow her whole and the demon side take over.
They were probably right. She is a monster.
She is out of control.
Exploding like that only made it worse.
How could the Honmoon choose someone like her?
Mira sucked in another breath after another pang of hunger tested her balance. She crouched down, clutching her stomach and gasping for air.
Okay. Maybe she should focus on the hungry part.
There’s a gas station nearby, that would be easy enough to sneak something out of.
Rumi’s feet started to drag behind her as the area grew more and more unfamiliar.
The street veered left ahead, but Rumi knew better than to keep going and walk further somewhere unrecognizable.
Mira peeked out of a hole in the wall. Nobody there.
Rumi looked up toward the streetsigns.
Maybe she should just go back home.
Mira began walking, head bowed.
Rumi turned left on Sseong-gil.
Mira turned right in the alleyway and began walking down a long path which led to one of the less busy streets.
Rumi zoned out and retreated into her head.
What if I really am like them? She muttered, half in her mind, half under her breath.
I’ll always be a demon. One day I just won't be able to contain it anymore.
Mira let out a tense breath and winced again when her stomach yowled out another time.
Her mouth felt incredibly dry.
The entirety of her situation weighed on her once again.
She hasn’t eaten in two weeks. Water was scarce, but that was still keeping her somewhat alive.
Rumi’s pace quickened subconsciously.
Why did she have to fall in love with him?
Tears brimmed her eyes. She misses her mom.
Tears stung Mira’s eyes. She misses her mother.
Rumi fought tears as fiercely as she could. She’d cried enough while running here.
Mira fought the tears as fiercely as she could. She’d cried enough at night.
Rumi sniffles, her pace speeding until she breaks into a run again.
Mira kept her head down, eyes shut.
Rumi squeezed her eyes tight, hoping that would stop the teardrops threatening to escape–
A force slammed into her side.
Mira slammed into someone.
She gasped and stumbled backward, ultimately falling.
“Watch where you’re going!” Rumi lashes out sharper than she wanted to, fury still burning from everything she’d just experienced.
“Watch where you’re going!” The girl Mira bumped into sneers at her.
Rumi finally glances over to whoever bumped her.
Mira’s hood slips off of her head when she looks up, exposing her vibrant red hair.
Rumi’s anger dies in her throat when she locks eyes with the girl.
Their eyes stayed in contact with each other for a long moment before either spoke.
Mira can’t stop staring at this girl’s eyes. They were cinnamon but burning with something that made them look alive.
Rumi can’t stop staring into the darkness of this girl’s eyes. They were brown, but so dull and so empty that they just looked black.
She extends her hand for the red-haired girl to take, her voice smaller now. “Do.. Do you need help getting up..?”
Mira blinks at the purple-haired girl, skeptical to take her help. But the dizziness when she gets up on her own has already made her pass out three times, so she accepts.
She reaches out for the girl’s hand.
Their fingertips brush.
Something happens around them and the air seems to snap with the weight of it. Everything surges with a blue pattern that ripples in waves. It clung to every surface, racing along walls, spilling gently around corners, and twisting through the city like water slipping through the cracks.