I LONG FOR SPRING

02.

COME TO ME IN
THE NIGHT HOURS,
I WILL WAIT FOR YOU.

Track 1. War of Hearts - Ruelle

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The lone fluorescent light shudders for nth time that night.

In the heart of Seoul, South Korea, a woman curls in on herself inside a one-bedroom apartment, just between the border of Mapo-gu and Yongsan-gu. The curtains are drawn tight, the four-walled room is blanketed by the inky darkness. There's no audible sounds except for the harsh breathing pouring from her lips and the occasional creak of the wooden floor.

When the curtains are disturbed by a small breeze, an object catches the street light from the outside, and in the woman's hand, a butcher knife glints threateningly.

Lalisa takes a deep breath. Two mouthfuls, three. Her limbs feel weak, her knees howl in pain as she remains kneeling on her apartment floor. A sigh leaves her mouth as she looks at the trail of blood that's splattered all over the room. On the couch, atop the coffee table, in the cabinets. But it doesn't matter though, there are things more important than the gore everywhere. 

Because in her right hand lies what may be the answer to her freedom and behind her back, a pair of pristine white wings unfold, the weight of them a sole reminder of what she is, what she was, and what she may all be.

Three more breaths. Four, for good measure.

With a swift flick of her hand, she aims for the base part of her wings, and cuts them off.

The florescent light shakes with the force of it.

When she looks back to check on them, a disappointed huff is all she could muster. What was supposed to be a clean cut remains useless; the wings were still there, standing proud and tall and big in the midst of the living room. A few feathers had fallen into the ground, droplets of blood falling from the knife,  yet they were unharmed, healing as quickly as they were injured. They continue to glow, all in their glory as they ripple, causing a small breeze that allows the curtains to part again and the moonlight to shine in on them.

At the sight of the sky, Lalisa recoils and hurries to pull them together again. She thinks that if she looks too long, her brothers and sisters might see her and she'll be brought back to the Silver City to be punished by the Almighty for betrayal.

She doesn't want that to happen.

And so with much regret, she pulls her wings in again, and decides to finish for the night.

There's still time. That, she knows.

* * *

The bowl of kimchi stares back at her mockingly.

Lisa grits her teeth, hands twitching as she moves the apparently edible concoction around the small side dish placed right in front of her. The bowl of jjajangmyeon noodles lay askew, empty and almost nearing the edge of the table as the angel takes it upon herself to try the side dishes after consuming the well-made meal. The japchae was good, she notes, as well as the pickled radish, but she has never seen kimchi in her entire celestial existence.

"It's...it's red," she points out in a soft voice. The kimchi looks unfamiliar, almost threatening with its bright crimson color. Lalisa didn't recall having this in the Silver City, where food aren't necessities as all the occupants of Heaven need not to eat. It strikes her as odd. Apparently, the mortals use this to cleanse their palate after eating greasy food--whatever that means.