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hyejoo jolts awake in cold sweat.
this isn't her room. or anywhere she's ever been, as far as she remembered.
she's lying on a completely unfamiliar couch, with unfamiliarly mild and warm lighting. the television --- it seems that it was bought during the 90s. the screen shows unclear images, and the channel playing is in black and white. on screen is a show where people are shown... dying? in brutal ways, too. hyejoo shifts her gaze away in an instant.
a brick fireplace is the next thing in her vision, burning up bright in orange flame. she could've sworn that she saw a few bones in there, but simply shakes it off as it can't be confirmed in such a blinding fire.
she feels a presence at the back of the couch she's on. turning around, she sees a person in a full black attire. black sweatshirt, black pants, black hooded robe draped over his shoulders.
"good morning, olivia."
hyejoo is taken aback by the nickname, which only her friends called her by. it felt odd coming from a stranger. "who the fuck are you?"
"i'm just going to ask you a few questions, miss son."
"don't call me that."
"okay then," the man in black makes his way to an antique wooden table and sits down on the chair back facing the wall. "take a seat, hyejoo."
"what if i don't? what if i decide that i wanna just sit on this couch and chi-"
"if you want to live, perhaps you should keep quiet miss son."
she shuts up in an instant, standing up and walking to sit opposite to the guy. hyejoo nervously clasps her hands and rests them against the edge of the table, staring at the pot of withered flowers to avoid eye contact.
"anyway olivia," the guy's tone returns to normal, in contrast of his dark threat made a minute ago. "my name is dalburne, and welcome to your final dream, the boundary between life and death."
"what the hell are you talking about?"
"what i'm saying is, you're dead. you've only just crossed the bridge of oblivion, so i can completely understand why you may not be able to process this yet," the man says, sliding a thick hardcover book towards himself on the table.
"excuse me, what?" olivia really can't get her head around his words, as if the gears in her mind have been clogged tight.
"you seem to be in doubt," dalburne opens his book to a fresh blank page. "let me ask, how old are you olivia?"
"just get to the point-" she cuts her own words off in realization. "oh shit."
"what were you doing before you entered this room? how did you get here?"
"yo, what the fuck," olivia mutters, partially to herself. "you've done some psychic memory erasure to my head! that's fucking badass dude."
"let me explain." dalburne uncaps the fountain pen strapped to the spine of his notebook. "your name is son hyejoo, age 18, and you have just crossed the bridge of oblivion."
