Ecstacy of Love (vsoo)

8. Because you owe me.

Edited

Jisoo’s POV

It was a quiet weekend in the capital, the soldiers scattered across the city, some taking a rare day off while others remained in the military camp. After spending some time in the record room, poring over scrolls that held little to no answers, I made my way to the stable. Gomma, my precious black horse, had been waiting for me for a week now, and I couldn't wait to see him again.

The stable smelled of hay and leather, a familiar scent that always put me at ease. As I stepped in, I saw him—Gomma, his coat shining under the soft light of the stable, his dark eyes fixed on me.

"I’m sorry, Gomma," I whispered, reaching out to stroke his soft mane. "I haven’t been able to see you every day, but I promise I will always come back on the weekends."

Gomma snickered, a sound that always made me smile. He was more than just a horse; he was my family, the only one who remained after Master’s passing.

I scratched behind his ears, feeling a familiar warmth spread through me. "Do you think I will ever find the truth? The real betrayal?" I asked him softly.

Gomma gave a little nod, his head bobbing up and down in a way that made me laugh. "I hope so too," I whispered, feeling the weight of the mission ahead of me.

"What if... what if I don’t make it through this? What if I die in the process?" I asked, voice shaky for a brief moment.

In response, Gomma nuzzled his head against my neck, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the ticklish sensation. "Alright, alright," I chuckled, giving him one last pat. "I know... you’ll be with me, won’t you?"

The connection we shared was deeper than words. It was a bond formed from shared solitude, and I needed it now more than ever.

After spending some time with Gomma, I made my way back to the bustling market. My mind was focused on one thing—finding a shop to change into my old attire. I missed wearing it, the mustache and all. It felt like the only way I could blend in.

The market was crowded, the air thick with the sounds of vendors calling out their wares and people chatting as they passed. I walked through the streets in a simple white hanbok, adorned with small flowers—a stark contrast to the dark military attire I wore in the camp. My hair flowed freely behind me, untied for the first time in weeks, giving me a more natural, elegant look. I felt more like myself in this attire than I did in anything else.

As I wandered through the market, a strange feeling came over me—like someone was watching me. I quickened my pace, but the sensation didn’t fade. I looked over my shoulder and spotted a familiar face.

A woman was walking towards me, her eyes narrowing as she studied my face. "Did we meet somewhere?" she asked, a slight frown forming on her lips.

I stared at her, trying to place her face. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen her before.

"You seem familiar," she continued, her eyes scanning me more intently now. "I’m sure we’ve met."

I shook my head, forcing a polite smile. "I don’t think we have," I replied, my voice steady, though my mind raced. Where have I seen her?