Drowning

D R O W N I N G

Many years ago, a girl made the mistake of falling in love with the sea. It was well known in those times that the sea loves no one but the moon, and so, as you can see, this story was doomed from the very beginning.

From the moment of her birth, the village whispered about her. Seohyun, the woman told each other. Jimin has named her daughter Seohyun.

She was a child-without-a-father, and it was always in the forefront of their minds.

But for the most part, they did not treat her any worse. By the time she was seven years old, her quiet nature and soft smiles hushed most whispers.

Seohyun was, however, undeniably different. Something of her unknown father had lodged in her, refusing to leave.

Her mother taught her the letters of hangul, a new system of writing unique to them. While the other children played games, she struggled to read the words her mother taught her. She wrote her name, over and over again.

Kim Seohyun. Kim Seohyun. Kim Seohyun.

When she was fifteen years old, she was put in charge of reading the Imperial decrees. In this way, the child-without-a-father found a place that few like her could claim.

Something in her, however, whispered that she did not truly belong. But Seohyun pushed down the feeling.

Her mother, however, could not ignore it. Jimin, whom the village, knew it was only a matter of time before everyone knew who Seohyun's father was. The knowledge would truly make her an outcast, and Jimin, who had lived her life as one, did not wish the same fate upon her daughter.

So it was that on the morning of her seventeenth birthday, Seohyun rolled up her sleeping mat and collected the few possessions that were hers. She kissed her mother goodbye and left without fanfare.

"Follow the rising sun," Jimin told her. "Follow it until you can taste the salt on your tongue and the gulls wheel overhead. There you will find a people who will welcome you."

Seohyun felt no sadness in leaving.

She had never truly belonged.

When the sun was setting on her third day of travel, she found a tree with red silk tied around it.

She reached out to touch the red banner, fingertips trailing along the words of protection and prosperity that were inked into the silk. Long lives, strength, guard against disease. They were enchantments, woven into the fabric by a shaman.

The banners fluttered as she walked under them, the skirt of her white hanbok brushing against the ferns. The fragrance of distant saltwater wafted through the leaves of the forest, enticing her to continue.

It was as the sun fell beneath the horizon that she stepped out onto the rocky seashore.

The moon was rising, casting a silver reflection across the waters.

Waves crashed against the shore, the spray painting the rocks black. A gust of wind buffeted her, and she took another step forward.

The ocean sang as she dipped her fingers in the cold waters, a slow smile spreading across her face.

She was welcomed into the village with few questions. They showed her to a small room in one of the houses and left her with a candle.

She offered to read things for them, but the people had very little written things.