The Human That Must Die TXT Taehyun x reader ff

Chapter 7

At least two days had passed, and with the help of her friends—and to some extent, me—we had managed to breathe life into lifeless pieces of fabric, molding them into something that almost resembled a dress. It wasn't finished, not yet, but with Soobin, Huening, and Mia lending their hands, I had no doubt it would be done soon. I would've added my own name to that list, but truthfully, I had contributed nothing of value.

Fashion was a language I didn't speak. Needles and thread felt like foreign instruments in my hands. My role had been reduced to that of a mere assistant, holding up items when she needed them, fetching supplies, or simply standing around, feeling like a shadow against the candlelight. I could have used my magic, twisted reality with a flick of my fingers, but of course, that was impossible. My powers failed in all matters concerning her.

And honestly, even if I could focus, I was constantly being yanked from her side, pulled into Youngjae's orbit whenever he sinned.

At this rate, I might as well have moved in with him.

But instead, I was here. Living with her—though not in any way she knew about. I was tethered to her, quite literally. An unseen force bound me within twenty feet of her at all times. I couldn't stray further unless I was forcibly summoned to Youngjae, which felt like every other moment. If he wasn't stealing, he was fighting. If he wasn't fighting, he was scheming. The cycle never ended. It was exhausting.

Yet despite my endless teleportations between two drastically different worlds, I realized something—I felt at peace by her side.

I had no right to. It was selfish, knowing that she wouldn't be here for much longer. But I couldn't help it.

Tonight, like every other night, I found myself hovering outside her window, watching her. Not in a predatory way—at least, I hoped not—but in the way one watches something fleeting, something they know they'll lose soon, something they just want to hold onto for a little longer before it disappears.

The dim glow of her bedside lamp cast warm, flickering shadows across her room. The air was thick with the scent of fabric softener and vanilla lotion, blending with the metallic tang of sewing tools and the crisp fragrance of freshly cut thread. Swathes of fabric, a patchwork of colors and textures, lay scattered across the wooden floor like fallen leaves. Her desk was a war zone of sketches and measurement sheets, some scribbled over in hurried corrections. A mug sat abandoned beside them, its contents long gone cold, a ghost of steam rising from its surface.

She stretched, letting out a long yawn before collapsing onto her bed, limbs splayed out in exhaustion. The duvet barely clung to her, slipping off her frame as if even it had given up trying to keep her warm.

I sighed. It was cold tonight—too cold for a human body to sleep exposed like that.

I floated, mimicking a sleeping position, watching over her as she slept.

I wanted to go inside, just for a second. Just long enough to pull the covers over her, to make sure she was warm. It was a small thing, but I knew I couldn't.

It was frustrating.

She was losing sleep over that dress, pouring her entire being into it, every waking hour spent hunched over her desk, working tirelessly. If I could, I would have made it perfect in the blink of an eye. If I had the Divine's permission, I could have ensured her victory in the contest.

But I couldn't.

All I could do was watch.

She shifted in her sleep, turning onto her side, her face now illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. Her lips parted slightly, breaths escaping in steady rhythms. A stray lock of hair had fallen between them, caught in the gentle rise and fall of her breath.