Take me home | Seongjoong

The Spark of Madness

Night blanketed the palace in a heavy silence, the moon hidden behind thick clouds, leaving the grounds in shadow. The torches along the outer walls flickered weakly, casting long, wavering shadows on the cold stone floors inside.

Seonghwa moved like a ghost through the corridors, unseen and unnoticed. His heart was cold, his mind numb, and every step he took felt like another nail in the coffin of the life he had once known. He wasn't the same person who had fled this palace months ago. That Seonghwa was long gone—buried beneath the weight of grief, guilt, and rage.

Now, he was something else. Something darker.

The oil barrel he had found earlier was heavy in his hands, but he carried it with a single-minded determination. He made several trips back and forth from the storage room, refilling the small container he had brought with him each time and spilling its contents across the palace. Each room he entered became a graveyard for what could have been—a mockery of the life he had once dared to dream.

The thick, acrid smell of oil filled the air as Seonghwa doused the curtains, the rugs, the furniture—anything that would catch fire easily. The oil soaked into the fabric, darkening the plush carpets and ornate tapestries that lined the walls. It pooled beneath the feet of wooden chairs and tables, waiting for the spark that would turn this place into an inferno.

Seonghwa moved through the rooms methodically, his hands steady, his face expressionless as he carried out his plan. Each room held memories—or should have held memories—of a life he would never get to live.

He stepped into one of the smaller drawing rooms, a place he had rarely visited as a child but had often imagined returning to as an adult, perhaps with Hongjoong by his side. He could almost see it now—the two of them, sitting together in the soft chairs by the fireplace, Hongjoong teasing him about something, his smile warm and playful. Maybe they would have shared a bottle of wine, the flames crackling in the hearth as they talked late into the night.

Seonghwa's lips twisted into a bitter smile as he tipped the container of oil over the chairs and the plush rugs, the liquid soaking into the fabric.

A date with Hongjoong. Never happening.

He moved on to the grand hall, where the grand chandelier hung overhead, its crystals gleaming faintly in the dim light. This was the hall where countless royal events had been held, where noble families had gathered, and where Seonghwa's own wedding might have taken place—if things had been different. He could imagine it now, walking down the aisle toward Hongjoong, their hands meeting in the center of the room as the kingdom watched, celebrating a love that would never be.

Seonghwa's hand shook slightly as he poured the oil across the marble floors, the liquid spreading in dark, glistening pools beneath the chandelier's glow.

A wedding with Hongjoong. A shattered dream.

Room by room, Seonghwa moved like a man possessed, his mind a whirl of thoughts that twisted and burned with each new memory he allowed to take shape. He walked through his own bedroom, the place where he had once slept, where he had once dreamed of a future that seemed so distant now. He had imagined bringing Hongjoong here one day—sharing this space with him, sharing his life. He had dreamed of the moments they would have had together, the nights they would have spent in each other's arms, safe and warm in the silence of the palace.

Seonghwa stared at the bed, his heart tightening painfully in his chest.

They would have made love here. They would have shared secrets, kissed, held each other as the world fell away outside.

But now? Now it was nothing. Just a room filled with broken dreams and empty promises.

Seonghwa poured the oil over the bed, the thick liquid soaking into the sheets, darkening the fabric with a slow, deliberate hiss.