The Wolf Affair | Bts Ot7 fanfic

7. Mist of Morpheus

"The Mist of Morpheus is an olfactory poison, whispered about in tales of sorcery and silent assassinations. Named after the god of sleep, it is a finely crafted, silver-hued vapor, subtle yet deadly, that seeps through the slightest cracks like an intangible fog."-

"Argh!" Sungmin let out a strangled cry, grinding his teeth as he hurled the heavy crystal ashtray to the ground. It shattered upon impact, scattering shards across the polished floor. His whole body trembled, hands clenched tightly at his sides, his eyes rimmed red, veins pulsing in his neck as he struggled to contain the storm surging within him.

He had arrived late to the banquet, but even so, he hadn't expected to find Ye Eun pressed so intimately against him—that arrogant dog, basking in the glow of her. The sight twisted something deep within him, a wound he hadn't realized he harbored. His heart pounded against his ribcage, each beat more violent than the last. Was it rage that churned through his veins, or was it a gnawing, insidious terror?

The Azurians had proven their reach and ruthlessness countless times. If, by some dark twist of fate, they came to know of his sins, his every secret unearthed... Forget Pervienne; no law in any kingdom would shield him. An icy shiver crawled down his spine as he gulped hard, his throat dry as bone. He wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow, but his skin felt feverish, clammy.

Lifting his gaze, he caught his reflection in the mirror—and froze. His breath hitched, heart hammering even harder, as he saw them again: those dark, gnarled hands, pale as death, creeping across his chest, clawing at his clothes, winding around his neck like serpents. He felt them tightening, squeezing the breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping for air. The phantom sensation of cold fingers digging into his skin sent shivers through his body. Somewhere, buried in his mind, he could hear the distant screams—agonized, raw—and the sticky warmth of spilled blood seemed to stain his hands anew.

"No... no!" Sungmin staggered back, his hands flying to his head as he tried to block out the haunting sounds. His fist slammed against the mirror with a force that sent cracks spiderwebbing across its surface, shattering his reflection into a hundred warped fragments, each one capturing a distorted piece of his horror-stricken face. He barely felt the sting of glass piercing his knuckles as he struck the mirror again, this time shattering it entirely. A fine mist of glass rained down, tinkling onto the ground, glinting like cursed starlight around his feet.

He stared down at his trembling hands, slick with fresh blood. His vision blurred, panic rising in his chest as he took in the crimson smeared across his fingers. "No..." he whispered, his voice weak, almost pleading. This can't happen again. I can't let this happen.

His fingers tangled through his damp hair, tugging at the roots as he struggled to pull himself back from the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to drown out the maddening, echoing voices whispering in his ears, ghostly accusations of the sins that clawed their way from the shadows of his past.

"Ye Eun..." The name slipped from his lips, low and venomous, filling the silence that hung heavy in the room. Ye Eun couldn't live—not if there was even the slightest chance that her stupidity would dredge his past to the surface. Not if her very existence could draw the watchful eyes of the Azurians toward his fragile web of lies. She was a loose thread, dangling above the chasm of his ruin.

Under no circumstances could he allow her to pull him down with her.

Ahn Ye Eun had to die.

Eun smiled softly at Rosie, offering a gentle nod as she bid her good night. When the door clicked shut behind her, she let out a long, weary sigh, feeling her shoulders relax for the first time all evening. She drifted over to the enormous bed, sinking into its plush embrace with a sigh of relief, her gaze lingering on the magnificent gown she had been granted for the evening. It hung by the dresser—a vision of rich fabric and intricate embroidery, every thread glimmering in the low candlelight, a gown meant for an empress yet worn tonight by her.