My Wicked Destiny

Trapped in The Labyrinth

You are the thorns along the garden path,
Entangled in brambles, sharp with your wrath.
I bend and twist at the sound of your call,
Shaping myself into your favorite doll.

When will we dare to cross that line?
When will we shatter the labyrinth of time?

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Porchay lay in Kim's bed for what felt like an eternity, the silence of the room pressing down on him as he tried to untangle the chaos in his mind. After all the back-and-forth struggles between them, Kim had finally given him permission to wander the mansion, as long as he didn’t step foot outside. But now that he had that freedom, Porchay found himself at a loss. It was a strange sensation, the ability to move about after so long being confined, and it left him feeling uneasy, as if the walls themselves were watching him. With a heavy sigh, he sat up in the bed, his gaze drifting aimlessly around the room. His hand instinctively smoothed down his chest, and then he paused, a faint realization dawning. The fabric beneath his fingers was soft and luxurious—not his own clothing, but Kim’s shirt. The scent of Kim’s cologne clung to the material, a mix of spice and something darker, something that was undeniably Kim. For a moment, Porchay just breathed it in, letting the familiar scent ground him in this strange, unsettling world.

He could have taken the opportunity to search the room, to pry into Kim’s private space, but there was little to find. The room was unnervingly pristine, almost clinical, with an air of coldness that didn’t match the man who inhabited it. No photographs adorned the walls, no personal items cluttered the surfaces—just sleek, impersonal furniture and a sense of detachment that made Porchay question if this was really Kim’s bedroom at all. The lack of personality made the space feel like a beautifully decorated cage, and Porchay couldn’t help but feel even more isolated. "Whatever," he muttered under his breath, slipping off the bed, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as he decided to leave the room behind.

For hours, Porchay wandered the sprawling mansion, exploring its endless corridors and perfectly maintained gardens. The place was a masterpiece of architecture, every detail meticulously crafted, yet it all felt like a facade—beautiful, but hollow. The immaculate marble floors, the ornate chandeliers, the lush greenery outside, all of it felt like part of a grand stage play, with Porchay cast as the unwilling actor. He knew better than to think he was truly alone; unseen eyes were undoubtedly tracking his every move, but for now, he ignored the subtle presence of the mansion’s guards and staff.

As he strolled through the west wing, his attention was caught by a familiar figure in the distance. Tankhun, Kim’s eldest brother, stood near the grand fountain in the courtyard, his appearance as eccentric as ever. Even from afar, Porchay could see the way Tankhun moved with a jittery energy, his brightly colored robe trailing behind him like a peacock’s feathers. His hair was styled in wild curls, and he wore an absurdly large pair of sunglasses, despite being in the shade. Tankhun seemed lost in his own world, gesturing animatedly to the fountain as if having an intense conversation with it. Porchay could hear snippets of his voice carried on the wind, something about mermaids living in the fountain again—a claim he had heard before. Tankhun’s presence was both unsettling and oddly comforting, a reminder that in this mansion of secrets, there were those who had long since surrendered to its madness. Deciding to keep his distance, Porchay turned down another path, leaving Tankhun to his imaginary conversation. No matter how far he wandered, though, the feeling of being trapped remained, an invisible tether pulling him back to where he started.

Kim sat across from his father, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the polished wood of the table. The sound was steady, a calculated beat that contrasted with the tension humming in the air. His father’s bodyguard loomed behind him like a silent sentinel, his presence menacing as he kept a sharp eye on Kim, scrutinizing every move from just over the older man’s shoulder. The two were seated on one of the manor's many balconies, the warm breeze stirring the leaves of the surrounding trees as they engaged in a slow, deliberate game of chess. The board between them was a battlefield of strategy, but Kim’s thoughts were elsewhere, his focus slipping as the game dragged on.