18+ Hell-is-an-f-word

Prologue

Do not worry; I won’t kill you.

Not what you thought I would say my little worm. Little worm, please think of me as the shining compass in your hand or the charming devil on your shoulder. But, may I ask you one question?

If you had to sacrifice one to save the other, which would you choose: family or friends?

Every opinion matters except yours, my little worm. Really, really lovely I am, to have created a few tips to uncover who I am. Of course, it may seem irrelevant now, like your opinions, but I am more than just a personality in this tale; an alluring one to add. So I expect you to find the hints, borough beneath the surface, and catch the ray in the blaze.

Anyways, I'm getting side-tracked... on with the narration.

In a spoiled household, my little winged friend was cherished like gold. She was loved by her parents, adored by her maids, and treasured by her butlers. Placed highly on a shelf of trophies like a dusty diploma. But, on the other hand, my little winged angel had a constant low mood because of her unmemorable childhood saturated with kindness. Always plump like a pumpkin stuffed with candies on Halloween. She was a sweet Korean child. Yet, an irregular child. She discovered this at age 3 when children called her by a special name: honyol.

It was not her name but a label for people like her, born with distinct features. Of course, only kids like her were stuck to this label, yet, there weren't kids like her: anywhere. Unusually, only children similar to her mother called that label. She once asked her mother why they called her that, and she responded they were just joking. She said it made her feel sad, and her mother said she was too sensitive. Her mother didn't look like her; she was never called that name. Her daughter was. Her daughter continued to be called this name all the way till 4.

At the ripe age of four, my caged angel was sleeping in her princess-double bed in one of the priciest penthouses in Seoul. Midnight air floated through the window, brushing her well-combed hair to shambles. Like cobwebs, her midnight hair spread across her sleepy face. Nonetheless, where were her famous millionaire parents? Where were her maids, and butlers?

That night, her parents had the most voracious idea, with no shelves to dust, nor floors to sweep. They both magically decided to hold a party for their hardworking staff. A petite party. It was dedicated to the sweaty-headed team who raised their flawless daughter. Coincidently, it was their daughter's fourth birthday. By the time the clock beat twelve, the entirety of the staff: nurses, butlers, maids; every household member there were. All were at this neon party. All except the birthday girl. But, of course, with only her in the apartment: no maids, chefs, or butlers. Something was bound to happen in the darkness: it did.

Within the modernised safety of her own apartment, something, or someone was lurking in the shadows.

Swimming through the dark, and through moonlight was a silhouette. This sturdy figure crept past an ajar door, as he entered he blackened the pristine carpet with his wet shiny boots, leaving prints. Rays of moonlight draped across the room, and swam in his hair. The silhouette was no longer dim, but enchanting. Sparkles of moon dust caressed his supple cheek. Against his porcelain skin was a suit sewn to fit him, and only him. Sewn-on his blazer pocket was a crest symbolising a red dragon. This prickled crest, however, had a tiny detail only that specific person would have, a capital golden M, and a dragon's tail around the ridge. I think a pretty young man in an all-black suit bathing in the moonlight is always the right sight to see. Except in this situation, of course.

Slivering in and out of the shadows, he stalked closer to this poor little girl's bed. At the edge. His very, very handsome, and veiny hand (inappropriate of me to say) wavered over her sleeping face. So small he could cover it with just his palm. Gently, he traced her unmoving cheek... And he lulled a goodnight.

It happened when I was young. Appa says I was 4, and that it happened on my birthday. He said he took me in as an asset to his team. Purpose: unknown. Organisation: Korean mafia.

My youngest memory was not the brightest, nor the most beautiful: It was uneventful. The last four years of my childhood were gone. Just like a lucid dream, it faded a few moments after consciousness. My youngest memory was a lucid dream.