Solstice in Grandeur

Chapter 7: Year 7 - The Unseen Divide

Haein was seven, and her brother, Soo-cheol, was now five. Two years had passed since the tragic accident that took the life of Soo-cheol's twin sister, but the wounds remained fresh. Haein had been too young to understand at first, too innocent to realise the magnitude of what she had done. All she knew was that the baby had slipped from her arms, a soft cry cut short by a terrible, final silence.

Her mother's grief had twisted into something dark, something that fixed its gaze upon Haein with silent blame. Whenever she looked at her daughter, there was a flicker of something in her eyes-a quiet accusation, a resentment she could not hide. Her love for Soo-cheol, on the other hand, seemed only to grow stronger. He had become the centre of her world, the one remaining link to the twin she had lost.

Soo-cheol, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension that flowed through the household, thrived in the attention his mother lavished upon him. He was bright, full of energy, his laughter echoing through the mansion, a sound that seemed to irritate Haein's mother as much as it comforted her.

Haein watched from the corners, feeling her mother's coldness seep deeper into her bones. She had tried to reach out to Soo-cheol, tried to play with him, to share in their mother's affections, but every attempt had ended with her mother's scowl or Soo-cheol's indifference. He was a child, but even at five, he seemed to know something was different about his sister. Something he should avoid.

One day, while their mother was out, Haein decided to try again. She found Soo-cheol in the playroom, surrounded by his toys. She brought him a small stuffed rabbit, one of the few toys she had treasured. "Do you want to play, Soo-cheol?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with hope.

Soo-cheol looked up, his expression unreadable. "No" he replied simply, turning back to his toy cars. "I don't like playing with people who hurt other people."

Haein felt her heart drop. "What do you mean?" she whispered.

"Mum says you hurt our sister" he said, almost casually, as if repeating something he had heard countless times. "She says that's why she's gone."

Haein swallowed hard, her chest tightening with a mix of shame and anger. "It was an accident" she tried to explain, but her voice wavered.

Soo-cheol shrugged, already losing interest in the conversation. "Mum doesn't like you" he said, turning away.

Those words hung in the air long after he had moved on to another toy. Haein stood there, feeling the weight of her brother's casual rejection. Even at his young age, he had already absorbed their mother's resentment.

Days turned into weeks, and the tension in the household grew thicker. Their mother would often take Soo-cheol out, leaving Haein behind with only the house staff for company. Haein's loneliness deepened, her attempts to connect with her brother met with cold indifference. She had become an afterthought, an invisible presence in her own home.

One day, a family portrait was planned. Their mother had hired a photographer, and the living room was arranged with elegant chairs and flowers. When Haein entered, she noticed there were only three chairs-one for their mother, one for Soo-cheol, and one for their father, who rarely ever came home. There was no place for her.

She stood by the doorway, clutching the edges of her dress, watching as the photographer adjusted his camera. Her mother looked up, saw her, and frowned. "Haein, go back to your room," she said, her voice sharp. "This is for family."

The words cut deep. Haein felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, but she blinked them away. She turned and left, her small footsteps echoing down the empty hallway. In that moment, she knew she was truly alone.

She retreated further into herself, building walls around her heart, shutting everyone out. She focused on her schoolwork, burying herself in books and homework. Her mother might not see her as family, but she would make herself impossible to ignore in other ways.

The coldness between her and her mother continued to grow, and even the servants seemed to tiptoe around her, as if afraid of catching the same chill. Soo-cheol remained the apple of their mother's eye, oblivious to the pain his words had caused his sister.

Haein's transformation into the "queen of ice" was almost complete, her young heart turning colder with each passing day, each small wound inflicted by her family's disdain. She learned to wear a mask of indifference, hiding her pain, her loneliness, and the deep yearning for a love she feared she would never receive.