[FEATURED ON WATTPAD ×12]
▬▬ 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐍𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒
'𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧.'
-𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐮𝐬 𝐙𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐤
I had met him. Taehong, I mean. Not once; not twice. But three times...
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The sound of pen scratching on paper was all that could be heard. The handwriting moved over the page as if the blank ink were infused with champagne, the air and perfume inviting words of such beautiful perception. The script as such wasn't ravishing or bewitching in any manner. The letters sloped in directions that were so much at odds with each other, they almost clashed against.
The black ink tainted the ragged surface of the handmade paper, the tough sheets not budging even with the pressure he exerted with the base of his palm. He clicked his tongue, as he inscribed the last few dots of his script, finally closing the book.
'It had been white, however, a slight blue coated its edges...' That was what his final sentence had been.
"Hmm," he groaned, stretching himself, to relive himself of the stress. "It's so bright today," he said, talking to himself.
A smile crept upon his face. There were so many ways he smiled, but only a few were told with his lips. There were times he smiled with the lilt of his voice, or an unexpected bounce in his stride. There were times he smiled with his choice of words. And most importantly, there were times when he'd smiled through agony, tears streaming down his eyes, relentlessly. But this one had been... Genuine; trivial.
But just as he looked outside the window, he witnessed the light streaming in through the only window he had. In the dappled light, he saw the golden rays dripping on his skin.
The glass only acted as a barricade, preventing him from exploring the outside world. For he thought it would be pernicious. But it had been oh-so magnificent to prevent him from daydreaming about it. He watched the fresh green foliage outside, in the forest. And upon the forest floor so woven with ancient tree roots came a light filtered by the bouquet of foliage above: softened, verdant and freshly aromatic.
"Azrail?"
The voice broke him out of the trance, the dream he'd set for himself.
"I'm sorry, you've got the wrong person," he stated, a small genuine shrug playing at his shoulders.
Tearing his eyes away from the woman who'd distracted him, he looked outside the window. Her features remained ingrained in her mind, like he'd seen her somewhere. But he just couldn't hypothesize where. Her eyes were the shade of acorns, just bright enough to shine in the shadows. There had always been an honest smile on her damask lips.
"What's your name, then?" she asked, cocking her head.
He turned his head once more, to answer her. "I'm Taehong. Wan Taehong. Why?"
Her attire had flummoxed him. She possessed a outré and bizzare sense of style. Her body had been shrouded with the most ill-fitting blue shirt and pants. Her hand held a writing pad, a brown color that didn't go well with the blue she'd worn.
