"You're bulletproof as long as I'm around baby."
"You're going to be the one with a bullet in you if you don't stop calling me baby."
***
You're the daughter of the head of a one of Korea's top spy agencies. When your father is assassinated, your...
A/N: I've been wanting to start this fic for a while. I'm very excited and I hope you guys enjoy this lengthy first chapter! There is a slight warning for violence and some possibly disturbing imagery.
Hope you enjoy!
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***
April 1st. For most it was day of foolish jokes and pranks, a day where nothing was supposed to be taken seriously. But, instead of trying to fool your coworkers with salt instead of sugar or some other stupid prank, you were putting on a white dress and preparing for the Remembrance Ceremony.
White. Your mother had always been so traditional. She'd grown up in a rural part of Korea you'd never heard of and only came to the city to visit family when she met your father. She left her small community then, but the customs never left her. It was the reason you and your father wore white every year on the anniversary of her death and asked those attending the ceremony to as well.
The dress was new. You'd had it commissioned especially for today. With your new job as a profiler within your father's elite spy agency, you now had the funds to splurge on the fancy dress. Sure, you could've spent the money on a dress for one of the fancy agency dinners or for your induction ceremony a few months before, but you felt it was best spent on your mother.
The dress made a small smile appear on your lips. You traced your fingers down the cream lace that detailed the dress and noticed as the dress hugged the curve of your hips. It stopped around mid shin like a pencil skirt.
The finishing touch was the string of pearls that had once belonged to your mother. They felt cold against your skin as you fastened them. You never wore them except for April 1st. It felt wrong to wear them any other time.
You felt a lump in your throat as you looked at yourself. You looked so much like her. The same sharp eyes and dark hair that you kept cut at the shoulder. The same delicate nose and Cupid's bow lips. You weren't much younger than she was when she had you. She had been just 23. You would be 22 in just over two weeks.
Every April 1st you opened up an old jewelry box full of pages from a long forgotten diary. You'd written down all the things you didn't want to forget about your mother. The way her dialect came out when she stressed or angry. How her nails were always perfectly painted. The way she pulled her hair into a ponytail when she read.
***
"Minnie, you look beautiful. So much like your mother." Your father's voice was softer than usual, laced with the sadness he usually kept hidden behind sunglasses or the tie clip you'd gifted him the Christmas before she died.
"Thank you," you said. You hugged him, not feeling the normal padding of the bulletproof vest. He'd taken to wearing it after your mother's death. As the head of the Bang Intelligence Agency, he was a high profile target. "No vest?"
