This story is written by my aunt. She has no watty account so I posted it here using mine~
cr: iam.jin@yahoo.com
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written by: 0:00 AM
"Be patient my damsel.
Here i come,
In the falling summer rain."
"L."
CHAPTER I: MAN UNDER THE UMBRELLA
Nephesh Chaiyah POV: I am Nephesh Chaiyah, and unfortunately, this is not Japan.
It’s needless to say that I am country bumpkin chic who'd rather stalk at the street for unusual spectacle of vogue than roam in runway gatherings for I believe "odd springs from the street” and so I was sitting on the railings of Sangsu-dong, Mapo-gu Street a suede-looking lace-up vintageshirt under long knit sweater, layered with rust-colored stockings, and leather flats while holding a canvas bag taking a good look at the traffic among the drowning plethora of the blue-collared Korean men and spring suited women.
Along this walk, one tall man who excels not only in height but also in aura walking lazily, with his hands buried in his pocket, and a somewhat absent expression of countenance. He was wearing a plain black hem-torn tee shirt, loosely hanged in his tight bleached pants. One can't say if it is style or simply worn out by usual wearing. His shoes is a plain black sneaker and in his shoulder, hung a gray mackintosh. He looked like a Choseon, was fashioned like an Englishman, and had the aloof air of Japanese,-a combination which caused sundry pairs of feminine eyes including mine eyes to look curiously after him, not because I like him but because that man is familiar. The man is no other than Caleb Near, International Crime Analyst. I hurried forward to meet him. What fate !
"Caleb, is it really you? Yai!" cried I, swinging myself out of the railings, and hugging him so tight to the great scandalization of “conservative Koreans” who fixed their startled disposition, lest they should be demoralized by beholding the free manners of this “Gothic Lolita”.
Presently, he strolled out of the crowd upon hearing me, and stood a moment at the crossing. "Miss Chaiyah? " He looked at me blankly, as if undecided whether to approach me or stand still where he was at. "In Seoul? Why?"
"Couture"
"Voguish." said Caleb. He looked me with a dismal look; I am not certain whether he disapprove of my garments or my occupation or he wasn’t really glad to see me.
“I am looking for a place to stay. Where is your home here?” There's something odd in his manner, though I couldn't tell what.
"My house at Villa Franca?” he offered.
“I’ve been pining too! ” and so he guided me on the bus station although it astonished me that he hasn’t car of his own but I didn't inquire. He led me on the last seat and he sat at the middle when we could have sit next to each other for a talk. He avoid conversations, perhaps and I slumbered during the whole trip.
By three of that afternoon, we reached Villa Franca at Jeju Island after five hours of dozy trip. He went off the bus and led the way. Oh My HEAVEN! Is this Villa Franca ?!!”
This is the dreamiest and the most enchanting bit of melodramatic and romantic landscape in all the island of Korea. What is the chief element it employs ? There stands the pile of 'praying' rocks, yellow dancing flowers, each swaying as the wind gently breathes against their smiling petals the sounds they produce are the quietest thoughts of lover's memories who had visited them in their shadiest fullness of affection; and there after being reproduced had grown in a lovely field of flowers; and up from yonder cottage, deep into this distant mazy way of Villa Franca is a woodland, reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in their hill-side blue. But though the picture lies thus tranced, and though this cherry-tree shakes down its sighs hymn of the Corsica sea waves, yet all were vain, unless your eye were fixed upon the Schubert's Tower. That lovely road of Villa Franca stretching toward Caleb's home, where goes a sleepy smoke is the grandest thing to see but with my each light happy step, I felt the heavy footsteps of the man in front of me as he led the way to his house door way.
