You never liked crowded places. You felt suffocation crawling through your veins everyday when you had to go to your workplace.
So when you decided to finally get yourself a scheduled place far away from the town, somewhere in the woods, you came u...
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Shit. It really was Jungkook.
The phantom projection of what was left of him..
His words lingered, and I could almost sense his sorrow wrapping around me like a shroud.
"You were an artist," I ventured, trying to connect. "Your paintings... your life... they were filled with beauty."
"Beauty?" he scoffed, his voice echoing in the darkness.
"Beauty is but a veneer, hiding the decay beneath. I sought to capture what I loved, but in the end, it was all stripped away, leaving me with only sorrows."
His image shook a little as the candles flickered back to life, illuminating the attic once more.
I felt compelled to show him my photographs, the ones that celebrated the beauty of nature and life that still thrived outside the cabin’s haunted walls. I pulled out my camera, turning the lens toward him as if capturing the essence of his spirit.
“This is how I see the world,” I said, my voice steadying. “There’s still beauty here. You can let go of the past and embrace what remains.”
As I displayed the images, I could see his ethereal form shifting in the light, as if he were caught between this world and the next. His expression softened slightly, but shadows still lingered in his eyes.
“Do you truly believe that beauty can mend a broken heart? What is left of me even? What's the point....” he asked, his voice barely a whisper now.
“I believe it can be a stepping stone,” I replied earnestly. “You’ve been trapped here for so long. You deserve to move on.”
For a moment, silence enveloped us, punctuated only by the persistent heartbeat that throbbed in the background.
It felt like a pulse of hope, resonating in the very walls of the cabin. But Jungkook’s spirit remained heavy, burdened by the weight of his past.
“I cannot abandon them,” he murmured, anguish etched across his pale features.
“They are my anchor, and I am tied to them in ways you cannot fathom. To move on is to forget.”
“Then let me help you remember,” I offered, feeling a surge of determination.
“Tell me your story. Let the world know who you were and what you lost. You may find that your love can transcend even death.”
