Servant | Taekook English version

Page 28: "I'll love you, I'll need you."

[Emily wells - Symphony 6]

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......

"Because I say so little, you think I don't feel. Whereas I'm very emotional."

- Maurice, E. M. Forster

.......

May 17, 1602

While the quietest hours of the night seeped into every particle of the large bedroom, the young man put his hands on his long charcoal hair that now reaches his shoulder, his gray eyes with distinct black circles, while watching the oil painting hanging on the wall on the slope, he wrapped the cloth in his hand in the tufts he collected in his palms.  He wore a ponytail, then immediately added the strand of fabric and turned the ponytail into a short but thick braid.

As the short sections of her hair, in thin bangs, poured into the pencil eyebrows, she fixed the braid and then slowly lowered her arms to either side of her body.  Immediately after swallowing hard and cleansing his dry throat, he briefly swept his wet tongue over his dry lips.  The gloom that filled him as he looked at the oil painting of a black sky, made him take a breath that would blow his chest and turned his body into the tall mirror next to him.

His condition was better now.  He was not as weak as before, he had recovered.  His face turned into color, and the gleams in his eyes replaced him, and his pale lips had blood.  It was getting better, much better, as on his plan.

Yet there was such a great war in him that, God forbid, this war would not leave stone on stone if it had escaped from its spirit and turned into two nations fighting for the land.

There was no news for a long time, from the other side he made a deal.  Neither the mentioned Seraphim was sending him a letter anymore, nor was his wife communicating.  Even Anna seemed silent.  They had not been talking about this for a long time.  It was such a long time to make you forget even what they talked last.  Suddenly, they pulled their hands and feet, leaving Jerome bare in the middle of nowhere.

Jerome thought he had never made a decision of his own will until now.  It was either swung or thrown.  People were telling him to do something, he did, and he was acted like a puppet.

So, which of the people holding the strings was really thinking about it?  Black hair was thinking about this now as he straightened the locket around his neck in front of the mirror.  Wasn't everyone working for their own interests?  When had 0 done a decent job for its own benefit?  He just thought he had been pushed for a long time.

That he was played, by a woman, with his cousin.

Or that it was used, by a big root, to be able to follow the rules.

Well, did anyone really think about him?  Did he really love?  Wasn't that what he wanted most?  To be loved.

First he wanted to love, then realized that it was tiring when one-sided and wanted to be loved.

However, it was not liked.  Then he gave up on that too.

Day by day, in all these hours chasing each other, his belief and confidence in everything diminished, dwindled and exhausted.  Everything he needed, all his emotions, and perhaps his goodwill, burned away until he had no ashes left.

Then he pondered the good and the evil ... He realized that no one can be all good and completely bad, and he discovered that believing and attaching to someone just because he looks good is also pity because no one could fully accommodate it.  Everyone had ambitions, needs, fears, a dark side.