he paints with lies ❆ kookmin

epilogue

June 2145

 
The old wooden door creaked terribly as it was pushed open slowly. A young girl peeked inside from behind the wooden door, her gaze sweeping over the house library.

The afternoon sun peeked through the thin, white curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. Three of the walls were to the furthest extent covered in bookshelves, which were filled with books. The whole room was decorated with furniture as old as some of the books themselves, and perhaps the dust dancing in the streams of light was too.

With quick, soft steps the girl tip toed into the room, running her small fingers over the binders to pick one at random. Her motion came to a sudden halt though, as they struck a binder that stuck out a bit too far, and was a bit too light.

It was a dull thud that resonated through the wooden floors as the book fell open. The girl panicked, unsure if she was really allowed to be in here. Her grandparents hadn't showed the room to her, and she'd been staying with them for a whole week! Anything antique was incredibly expensive though, so perhaps they didn't want a six year old lay their fingers on it.

She scrambled to pick the book right up, and pushed it into its spot on the shelf quickly. For a good minute or so she hid behind one of the arm chairs placed in the centre of the room. As she adjusted in her position though, she caught sight of a book laying on the little table beside her.

Without thinking, she grabbed a hold of the book and flipped the cover open.
 
 
     Dear Taehyung

 
The young girl furrowed her eyebrows in concentration as she spelled it out one word at a time, her voice in a whisper as she reads it aloud.

"What did you find, Eunji?"

She girl screetched in surprise, closing the book quickly. As she looked up, she found her grandmother looking down at her over the arm chair, a smile creasing her eyes.

"Ah, that old book," she laughed lightly as she saw the familiar binder in her granddaughter's grasp. "It's from back in the days, when curing an illness wasn't very easy, you see.

Though, disease or no disease we're just as human as they were. Love, loss, longing and pain is uncommon not to experience. Do you want me to read it for you?"

The girl nodded swiftly and curled up on the sofa, next to her grandmother.

"Let's see," the old lady hummed as she opened the book.

 
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

In the end, we'll all become stories.
Margaret Atwood