𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔦𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔟𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰.
Seonghwa is notorious for his devilish sorcery in the northernmost regions of the land. Isalay is a young scholar, forced...
She is cornered against the cool, stone wall now. Her hands curl helplessly into the hem of her tunic as he draws nearer, his hair falling into his face.
Seonghwa raises the enchanted blade to her throat. When the metal touches her skin, a spark of cold shoots through her.
"You are a coward," she clenches her teeth, staring boldly up into his dark, slanted eyes.
He smiles. In his steadiness, the blade never wavers. "Isalay, your lip trembles when you're frightened."
When he says her name, the color floods to her face. She leans into the sword in his hand, nearly breaking skin. "I'm not afraid of dying."
"I know," his eyes glitter dangerously. "But what I'm more curious about is why you're so afraid of me."
The sword clatters to the floor, and Isalay inhales sharply at the sound. To this, he only smirks. His hands slowly trace the outline of her body against the stone, smoothing upward until eventually his fingers curl gently around her jaw. With one thumb, he lifts her chin parallel to his.
"Perhaps you're not afraid of what comes after," his voice drops low as he closes in, warm breath against her lips, "because you've never truly sinned."
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